Five Card Charlie
by Dannemund
Summary: Charlie can't remember very much about who she was―or what she might have done. After learning that she might be a criminal, she sets out to remember. Her life gets complicated with the addition of a surly sniper and some extra voices in her own head... (Description will change as story goes along.) Rated M for swearing, violence, and future content.
1. 86'd

Note: I know, I know. I'm trying to get back to my previous schedule. Or close to it. Haven't written in a long time, so much stress. For now, I'm testing the waters with Charlie here. Trying to get the feel for the character was difficult.

As with most of my stories, this will be a romance. Once I can get to the point, haha. This is my attempt to make a slow beginning a little more interesting.

* * *

Charlie thought she was drowning, at first. When she woke, all she could feel was pressure. Something was suffocating her, in her face and in her throat, stopping her from breathing. She panicked―

 _Pain!_ Her head was screaming in pain! It was impossible, the amount of pain she was feeling. The pressure grew and grew, and her lungs ached in tempo with her head. What in the hell was covering her up? She was on her back, under an enormously heavy pile of―

 _Dirt?_ Her hands clawed through the rocks and earth, desperately fighting to get herself free. But she was―she wasn't going to be able to get out! Fingers curled into fists, stopping their movement against the dirt.

She couldn't _remember._ Only her name and―and that someone had shot her. Someone shot her in the face and she could feel the pain and she was confused because now she couldn't breathe and her lungs were aching in her chest... white spots exploded into vision behind her closed eyes.

Oh― _God,_ was this _it?_ Was this how she was going to _die?_ Without knowing what in the hell had happened and who killed her? She couldn't remember his face. Black and white checkers. Glint of gold. Not his face. Only that he was talking about a game―

Wasn't what she'd pictured for herself, going out like this! She'd fought tooth and nail to stay alive―her head hurt so badly she could barely think. _Had_ she fought? She... couldn't remember. She couldn't remember anything!

Except... she knew she was Charlie. And Charlie was about to die, _because―_

That asshole had buried her while she was _still alive!_

* * *

"You're awake. How about that."

Charlie jerked and threw a hand out, moving herself sideways and damn near falling off of a mattress with a creaky bed frame attached to it. She stopped herself by grabbing the edge of the grimy mattress, then pushed backwards and away from an old man sitting beside her. _What―who was―_

"Whoa, easy there. Easy. Get your bearings."

He held his hands out but she didn't relax. _Easy_ there? How was she supposed to _relax_ when the last thing she remembered was―was being _buried?!_

She felt a stray breeze crawl up her back. _Shit!_ She was almost naked! What in the hell―Charlie's arms and legs began to shake from emotion, her eyes locked onto the old man and her mind running a million miles a minute trying to figure out what was going on. She couldn't focus on any one thing, any reason why.

"Can you tell me your name?" the old man was asking her, his voice calm. He was sitting in front of her with his hands in between his legs and leaning forward, staring right back at her.

Charlie curled in on herself, trying to keep her gaze on his. She knew that you couldn't trust people. Not in the wastes. Couldn't trust no one in Vegas either―

For a moment, Charlie wondered _why_ she remembered Vegas, but immediately knew she wasn't _in_ Vegas. Charlie's eyes flicked from the old man's eyes to the nearby window. Light shined through the boards, catching on the dust motes floating through the air and beaming onto a surgical table nearby. The room smelled... like dusty earth, warm water, and the musky stench of Bighorner droppings.

 _Definitely_ not Vegas.

She blinked and took in the room, pushing herself into a sitting position. She was inside of a worn-looking, but well-loved house. Bloodied bandages and disposable medical items were bundled into a wastebasket, the remnants of a recent surgery. The old man in his field hand clothes was still talking, calming sounds in a quiet room. Two open doors behind him gaped invitingly, showing a hallway and another room.

Her eyes darted back to the man as she tried to remember. She opened her mouth slowly, and stared him in the eyes. "...Charlie," she said. Her voice surprised her. She was nervous and it showed, badly.

"Can't say it's what I'd have picked for you." He lowered his hands and laid them across his knees. "I'm Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings."

 _Goodsprings._ Where was Goodsprings? Charlie's head ached. She rubbed her temple with one hand, and grimaced. Everything hurt. Why did everything _hurt?_

"Let's see if we can get you on your feet." Doc Mitchell held out a hand and Charlie glared at him. She wasn't sure she could trust him. If she could trust _anyone..._ someone had just shot her in the head and she could _barely_ remember her own name!

The doctor withdrew and watched her push herself to a standing position. After a moment of getting her balance, checking to make sure she was in one piece, and refusing any help, she followed his instructions. Tested her vigor on a funny little machine, which would have been amusing if she wasn't so _jacked up―_

From _what,_ she didn't remember. The doctor mentioned something about her being shot in the head. She didn't know why or how or who would have done it. A spike of anxiousness drove deep into her heart at the thought. What in the hell had _happened_ to her?!

Charlie frowned when the tester told her her senses were on par with a deaf bat. "Maybe we should fit you for some glasses while you're here," Doc Mitchell remarked, awkwardly. Charlie blinked and stared at him for a long moment, watching his face turn from a lighthearted attempt at humor to sadness. She kept her mouth shut. Was better not to say a word―

Another couple of tests and she was set to leave. The doctor mentioned that she'd been buried up at the cemetery―of course, she'd been shot in the head, that made sense―and gave her her things back, along with something called a Pip-Boy.

He also offered her up a Vault suit to wear, and she shook her head at him. Went through her things for a moment, and immediately pulled on the metal armor she found. Made her feel a little better. Why hadn't she worn it when she was―she paused. Wait. What _had_ she been doing before the man shot her...?

Charlie felt like she was going to fall to pieces. She didn't know who she was other than a name. Didn't know where she came from, where she was going. It was... she had a _clean slate._ Everything that she had been before, even if she remembered it, didn't matter.

...Well, it wasn't that easy to ignore that she had a past. Even if she didn't want to find it. But... thinking that she was free made her feel a little better. Less anxious. Made her feel like whoever she had been, had been someone who _wanted_ their past to go away. She wondered why.

And if that memory would come back to her soon, or if she would be forever stuck half-remembering things. The bright blue and glaring yellow jumpsuit that the doctor was holding brought to mind something like that. She stared at it for a moment, trying to figure out why it looked so _familiar._ Something on the tip of her tongue wanted to be spoken, but hell if she knew what it was.

"Doctor," she said, trying to jog her memory. "What did you say about the suit?"

"It belonged to my wife," he answered, his voice strained. "I think she was about your size, and she hardly wore it after we left the Vault."

A sharp pain in Charlie's head sounded off at his words and she squeezed her eyes shut. Why... why was it so difficult―she couldn't remember. It looked so normal to her... but she couldn't _remember._

"Anyway, you ever get hurt out there, you come right back. I'll fix you up. But try not to get killed anymore." Doc Mitchell was watching her with that strange sad look in his eyes.

Charlie rubbed her temple and breathed out, trying to think straight. She remembered what the doctor had said, before. "You said you lost something?" she asked. If he kept talking, she might figure out what was _missing..._

"Well, ain't we all, right? That was a long time ago. I don't pay it much mind anymore."

She stared at him for a moment. He was clearly lying. And he was still staring at her with a strange way, and she was starting to wonder what was _really_ going on―

Charlie rummaged in her sack for a while and tried to think. She was... a courier, there was a work order there, and―and someone stole the package. A platinum chip. That part was easy to figure out. But... on the paper there was also the name of the place she got the order at.

"Mojave Express," she thought aloud.

"That's to the south, in Primm." Doc Mitchell had the Vault suit draped over his arm. Charlie stared at it for a long moment, then stood up and held out her hand. She didn't know why, but it seemed like he wanted her to have the thing... so she might as well take it.

There was a tense pause before he handed her the jumpsuit. Charlie shoved it in her sack, shouldered it, and pushed past him.

* * *

Charlie sidled into the saloon without a word to anyone. She avoided talking to the woman with the dog and moved to the left, slipping into a booth. Waiting for a heated argument between a woman and a man to end, she studied the combatants. She guessed that the woman in the skirt was Trudy. Doctor Mitchell had mentioned her. She owned the saloon.

Charlie squinted at the black man yelling at Trudy. Who was that? He sounded... familiar...

She covered her face, her hands shaking. _Everything_ seemed familiar. How could she tell if it really _was?_ Nothing so far had been strange except _for_ "familiar"! No one was saying anything to her about who she was, but everyone was―everyone in Goodsprings was someone she felt _comfortable_ with.

It was like the worst feeling of déjà vu in the world. Charlie was about to give up on trying to figure it out when the black man turned around.

Oh, _God,_ it was Joe Cobb.

She remembered! _She remembered!_

Joe looked around the place, his upper lip curled into a sneer, and made a noise that sounded like he didn't much care for anyone inside. Charlie racked her brain for the memory, grasping at the end of the trail that led to it, but lost her grip. She made a frustrated noise and rubbed her forehead with her palm. She remembered who he was, but not _why_ she knew him―

It was right there and she lost it! _Dammit!_ She groaned under her breath, and watched as Joe turned and looked directly at her. Her heart damn near tap danced out of her chest across the table as she stared right into his eyes. She watched his mouth moving into a sick smile, directed right at her, and a deep dread made its way into the bottom of her stomach.

 _"You,"_ Joe said, moving to the table she sat at, and leaning onto one hand. Put his face into hers and narrowed his eyes, and she could smell his breath. Charlie fought the urge to back away quickly, her heart making a horrible pounding against her ribs. Joe leaned in further and further until his nose was almost touching hers.

"Let's talk outside, huh?" he said, quietly, then backed away and stared down at her.

Charlie froze in place. Everyone in the place was looking at her. Didn't know what to do but agree, and make him leave―she jerked her head up and down in a painful nod and watched him saunter out of the saloon, then moved and slumped onto a barstool.

"Who was that guy?" she asked, her voice shaky.

Trudy sighed. "Just trouble. Stay away from it." She wiped the counter top and attempted a smile. "What can I do for you?"

Trudy said Joe was threatening them with violence if they wouldn't give up some trader. Charlie knew... the Powder Gangers. A little. Remembered... _remembered_ she'd helped them, in the past. Helped them after that breakout at the NCRCF―helped some of them get north―

Charlie paled in the dark interior of the saloon, and Trudy asked if she was feeling well.

Charlie was a _criminal._

...No _wonder_ she didn't want to remember the past.


	2. Criminal

Charlie sat in the saloon for about fifteen minutes after Trudy mentioned the Gangers. Stared blankly into the air and tried to make sense of what was going on. Her brain slowly began to move in a rough circle. Moving outside of the memory of Joe Cobb, moving closer and closer until she finally managed to get a hand onto it and grab hold.

At... _some_ point in the past, a point she couldn't clearly identify the time of, she had helped the Powder Gangers. Helped them... Charlie frowned and stared at the bar surface, her hand shaking against the empty glass of sarsparilla she'd ordered. She'd helped them go north by charting a path through the mountains and around Sloan. Taking them where the NCR wouldn't see them. Something that was easy for a Courier to do, because she knew the area.

She covered her eyes and didn't know if she should laugh or cry. She was remembering, _but..._ she was learning things that made her disgusted with herself. Like how she'd helped a bunch of no-good convicts―

Like Joe Cobb out there, one of the _worst_ people she could ever remember meeting. Joe was an asshole on top of having burned, robbed, and murdered folks. Why in the hell would she _ever_ help someone like him?! She didn't feel like the kind of person who could do that!

...Was she that kind of person? No. No, it didn't feel _right._ Maybe she might go around the rules a little, but not like Joe Cobb. Not breaking them willy-nilly as she pleased.

Charlie groaned to herself. She couldn't _not_ face him. Had to, to find out what had happened. Had to figure out―whatever was going on, had to accept who she was. Maybe make it better, after. Try to... get a fresh start, with this lost memory business.

Plus there was that delivery that had been stolen. She looked down at her hand and flattened it against the grimy counter. No matter who she was, she _had_ to get that chip back. Someone thought that they could come in, steal it, and shoot her―that wasn't right, not one bit. New Charlie was gonna fix that, once she figured out why in the hell she was helping _criminals._

"Lottie," someone said. Charlie's head turned slightly, stretching her gaze to watch him from the corner of her eye. An old black man with a straw hat was sitting at the counter. He had turned to face her, and was nodding to her, his mouth set in a funny way.

"Who?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.

The old man blinked at her and Trudy tapped his hand, urgently. She shot him a look and shook her head, then beamed at Charlie with a beatific smile. Charlie screwed up her face in confusion.

Something _weird_ was going on with these people here. She'd just about had enough of their strange ways and that odd doctor, looking at her like he had. All sad like he remembered something himself―

Charlie shook her head and pushed herself up, feeling her metal armor rubbing through thick cloth of her underclothes. If she got into another fight she was at least better equipped, this time. She ran her inventory in her head. She had a good set of armor. She had... close to twenty grenades for a battered grenade rifle that someone―maybe her―had scratched the name "86" onto. And she had nothing better to do but to confront Joe Cobb and figure out what was going on.

Charlie held the grip of the rifle tightly, and walked out of the saloon.

* * *

It took her a minute to figure out why Joe was in Goodsprings. Trudy mentioned some trader up in the old gas station, and Charlie felt her feet carrying her up the hill. She didn't even think, she just went.

Before she opened the door she shot a glance back at the town and noticed the doctor watching her from around the corner of his house. Charlie frowned at him, turned, and pulled the door open. The hinges were stiff, and it jerked with a shudder, and she suddenly had a gun in her face.

Charlie's hand tightened on the rifle as she stared at a rather handsome young man, behind the gun. She calmed herself down―her heartbeat pounding in her chest again―and knew her knuckles were going white on the grip of the rifle. "I'm not going to shoot you," she said, as calmly as she could. "Please put down the gun."

After a tense moment, he allowed her to come into the station. Explained the situation. Charlie nodded, then rubbed her eyes. "I'll deal with Cobb, okay?" she said. Even if... she couldn't figure out what was going on, she had to talk to Joe.

"The rest of them are going to come after me," he said, sounding paranoid.

Charlie smiled knowingly. She felt a kindred spirit for the guy. She hadn't not felt paranoid since she woke up. "I'll deal with them, too," she answered, her voice growing confident. "I don't like this business, not one bit."

She left the station and made her way back down the road, past the general store and toward Joe. _Alright, Charlie,_ she told herself. _Time to face the music, huh?_

"Joe," she called, as she approached him. 86 was still in her hand, loaded and ready. She wasn't going to let him get anywhere, if he did decide to try to hurt her. She suddenly remembered that Joe was friends with―she frowned and cleared her mind. _Later,_ she thought. _Right now, just talk to the man._

"Charlie," he replied, looking at her with a pissed-off expression. "The fuck you out _here,_ for?"

"Delivery," she told him. It was true enough.

"Still doing the courier shit," he grumbled. "Thought you were gonna jog off with Cooke and them."

"Well, I didn't." She moved closer until she was about ten feet from him, and stopped. "Why are _you_ here?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

Joe repeated the deal with the trader. From the Powder Ganger view, he was guilty of not paying his dues. They'd tried to shake him down on the road, but nothing came of it except this idiot getting his caravan killed and him fleeing.

Charlie watched Joe. He trailed off into nothing, and glared at her pointedly. "Stop staring at me, you stupid bitch."

She flushed a little. "Whatever Joe. Go back to the prison. Leave these people be."

Joe went still, then stood up abruptly. He stalked over to her and grabbed her by the back of the neck, pushing her down and into a bent position. "I don't need no stupid bitches telling me what to do," he growled, his hand tightening on the back of her neck. "You ain't the boss of _me."_

Charlie froze for what felt like forever. Felt like she was trapped inside herself. She couldn't move or react or―or even fight him off! Her eyes were wide and directed toward the shrub nearest her. Panic ran rampant through her mind.

What was going _on_ with her?!

When Joe let her go, she immediately relaxed and brought the rifle butt up, slamming it upward into his nose. Blood splattered onto her face as he moved away in a stunned jerk. Charlie turned, backed away, and held up the rifle, aiming it at him.

"You get on out of here, Joe," she said, as firmly as her panicking mind would let her. _"Go home._ Stay the hell away from Goodsprings."

Joe had cursed and drawn back, then withdrew his own pistol and was staring her down. He scoffed, and pulled back the hammer on the weapon. "Like I'm scared of you," he shouted, raising the pistol.

She raised the rifle to her shoulder. "You heard me, Joe. _Leave."_

Felt better when his hand quivered a little. Charlie gripped the rifle tighter and breathed out, trying to calm herself. She wasn't helpless, she told herself. Twice now, she'd frozen when facing him down. But she _wasn't_ helpless. She was stunned, that was all.

Joe shook his head. "You always were real fucking stubborn," he said. He didn't lower the pistol. "Don't know why that boyfriend put up with your ass―"

 _"Shut up!"_ she yelled, trying to get angry. She didn't know if―if what he was implying was _true,_ but it was her life and she was going to―

She didn't _know._ She didn't know what to do, what to say. What was going on, where she'd been. Everything was so _confusing_ and―and her fingers weren't working, she was frozen again. Locked into position out of pure fear and the utter helplessness that she felt―

Joe's finger moved and the bullet tore into Charlie's shoulder with a burning pinch, then blossomed into a brilliant surge of pain. She was compelled to move by the pain alone, her own finger snapping shut on the rifle trigger. A soft noise sounded as the grenade was ejected from the barrel, and Charlie collapsed to the ground. Covered her head in the split second that the grenade exploded, hearing Joe's agony as it hit him.

Right between the eyes. She was better at _that_ than she'd expected.

Charlie pushed herself up from the ground and stumbled over to the area where his body lay, blood dripping from the fence posts and splashed up onto a very surprised and angrily snorting Bighorner. It started away from her as she approached, and she nudged a piece of gore with her toe.

Her hand held over the hole where the round had caught her―right between the edge of the metal chest piece and her shoulder guard―Charlie shouldered her rifle and began the painful process of walking back to the doctor's house.

She'd faced the fear, this time. Might not be so _lucky_ next time.

* * *

Doc Mitchell tutted and told her to sit on the edge of the mattress. She removed the top part of the armor and waited for him to remove the bullet, wincing in pain.

"I told you," he muttered to himself, "not to get yourself killed again."

"I'm sorry," she said, flushing. "I had to... had to deal with him."

The doctor didn't say another word until she was sewn up, and then he shook his head in disappointment. "They'll only be back in greater numbers, now."

Charlie nodded. "Gotta take 'em out," she answered, pulling her shoulder guard into place.

Doc Mitchell sighed. "Listen, Lo―" he coughed and rubbed his mustache, and turned away from her. _"Charlie,_ if you really want to take the gangers down, you might ought to talk to Sunny down at the saloon."

Charlie's eyes narrowed. He'd―he'd just started to call her by a different name. Like the old man in the bar. She finished dressing, then stared at the back of the doctor's head.

"What's going on, here," she asked, angrily. "People been calling me Lottie. You almost just did. I ain't Lottie. I'm _Charlie."_

He turned back to her, nodding. "You deserve the truth. I'm sorry I ever tried to fight it."

Charlie groaned and rubbed her face. "What _in the hell!"_ she said, closing her eyes.

"You got a mighty close resemblance to a girl called Charlotte, used to live 'round here. We all called her Lottie." Doc Mitchell breathed out loudly. "She's been gone for nearly five years, though."

Charlie opened her eyes and stared him down. "Who was she," she asked, mostly out of curiosity.

Doc Mitchell was silent for a long time. Then he blinked back tears and strangled out, "My daughter."

Her breath caught in her throat. The tears in his eyes brought tears to her own, the look on his face so anguished―the blood drained from her own face as she remembered, again―

 _Oh, God._

She really _was_ a criminal. She'd run off with a bad man and now she was home and now she was feeling the hurt she'd caused, and her dad had to peel her out of the grave she'd damn near put herself into because she was so stupid―

Charlie fainted onto the mattress.


	3. Charlotte

Charlotte― _Charlie_ ― ** _Lottie_** ―woke up lying on the mattress again, and immediately panicked. One hand went to her forehead and the other flew out in front of her, pushing away anyone who might be in front of her―

It was almost _exactly_ the same as before, when she'd come out of the grave. Tears sprung into her eyes and her chest ached. Would the hurt ever stop?

"Whoa, now," she heard, and opened her tear-filled eyes to see _him._ Her... father? Doc Mitchell was sitting in front of her, patiently waiting for her to wake up. "Take it easy," he said, in the same calm manner as he had before. When she woke up from being shot in the head.

Charlie wondered if _Joe_ had shot her in the forehead, not in the chest, and she was being forced to repeat everything she'd done and live through _that_ hurt again. She blinked in confusion, rubbed her forehead with her palm, and groaned in pain. Well, her chest sure hurt a lot. That wasn't a lie. She was bleeding pretty steadily through the thick cloth underclothes, a large and sticky spot spreading over her chest.

"What's going on," she mumbled, trying to sit up. "Wha..."

"You fainted," Doc Mitchell said, holding out a hand to help her.

This time, Charlie took it. "I'm... I _am_ Charlotte," she said, still a little confused. "Aren't I?"

"She's been gone too long," he replied, his voice strained. "You do look like her."

Charlie sighed. "I must be her. I... can't remember, but..."

The doctor settled his feet against the floor with a loud scraping. Charlie's head ached. It was―she didn't know _what_ to think. Crazy, maybe. The silence in the room drew out, painted onto the air like the sunlight that bled through the window. She stared at the beams for a moment, trying to will herself to remember.

After a long time, Doc Mitchell made a strange noise and began talking. "Our Charlotte... she ran off, and we don't know where she went." He shook his head. "Tore her mother's heart up. She ain't come home for five years, now."

"That long?" Charlie asked, trying to avoid looking at him. Guilt. Terrible guilt, she'd left her mom and dad alone in this little town and she had an awful idea of _why_ but she didn't want to believe it―or listen to her memories, when it came down to it―

"The missus passed away after Charlotte ran off." He looked miserable. "I stayed on here, to be near her. Thought maybe Charlotte might show up, again. She ain't."

God, that was sad. Romantic and terrible, and... so devoted to the women. Charlie glanced up at the doctor. She... thought she remembered him. It was difficult to say if she did or if she only wanted to have a place to fit in. It would be so... so much better to be right where she _needed_ to be.

To find home. Where she could rest and regain her memory, and be safe. A safe place... in the wastes, that was something you _had_ to protect. Charlie stared at him for a long time, before asking, "Why did she run away?"

Doc Mitchell heaved a huge sigh and scratched his head roughly. "Reckon it was a man," he said. He shook his head. "I never saw the fella, myself. Only found out when a caravan coming through the Outpost stopped in. Said they'd seen two young'ns at the Outpost about to be arrested for smuggling, boy and a girl looked like Charlotte."

Charlie's head ached in pain and shame. Little pieces of memory floated back into place. She... remembered being on the open road, with a man. They'd traveled up and down the highway for a while... He was a bad man, stealing from other travelers. Maybe a Jackal, she thought. They were little more than raiders, the gangs in the hills.

Charlie stared at the floor for a moment, trying to piece together the memory. Couldn't remember his name, but she did know that she'd _loved_ him. Or at least _thought_ she did.

She'd loved him so much, she'd have done anything he asked―and she had. They were smuggling nightstalker eggs into California. She didn't know who paid them to do it, but the eggs were left at a little cave just to the southeast of the Outpost and they'd tried to take them through the Outpost. _He_ got caught on the last run. She... she didn't remember what had happened to her, but _he_ was sent to the NCRCF, and―

God, she'd been the cause of so much trouble, as a teenager. First her―her possible family here, destroying them, and becoming a criminal―and she'd paid for all of it with blood, punishment delivered by a bigger and _better_ criminal courier. The black and white and gold man who shot her in the head.

Charlie's head ached so bad she thought it might implode. She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to spill, but it was no good. "I'm _sorry,"_ she said, trying not to burst into tears. "I'm _so,_ _so sorry!"_

"Now, why you gotta go be sorry for something someone else did, I don't know," Doc Mitchell calmly patted her shoulder. "You're Charlie, not Lottie."

"But―" she started, looking up at him and frowning. "But I'm―"

 _"Charlie,"_ Doc Mitchell said, pointedly. "Best you get prepared for the Powder Gangers. They'll be on their way soon enough, maybe even tomorrow morning. Cobb's death won't be without revenge."

It took her a moment to understand. If... she _was_ Charlotte Mitchell―she thought she was―and the doctor thought so too, given the way he was acting―then he was letting her have an opportunity to remake herself. To _change_ who she was, before she could be accepted. ...The clean slate that she'd thought about before.

It was a gift. Given by a wounded and grieving father. One she ought to _appreciate._

Charlie's hands darted out and grabbed him by one of his, holding it tightly. "Thank you so, _so much,"_ she said, feeling it deep in her heart. "I mean that."

"Many welcomes," he replied, and untangled himself. "Now, you head to the saloon and talk to everyone. Get them ready for the attack. Hell or high water, we ought to make it out alive."

Before she left, Mitchell gave her some extra supplies to help the cause. She thanked him again, profusely, before heading out. She had to talk to everyone in town―would they remember her? She didn't even remember _herself,_ not completely.

She'd found home. ...But maybe home wasn't ready to find _her._

Charlie wiped a tear from her eye and walked back to the saloon.

* * *

No one said a word to her, if they remembered who she was. The old man with the straw hat called her Lottie again, _and_ he handed over his dynamite without much need for being convinced. Charlie remembered she had used it before. To help... the Gangers. Her face burned with shame.

At least Easy Pete trusted her with the explosives. She had a hell of a time trying to talk the store owner into helping. Eventually she'd given up on Chet and left him smirking behind his counter. Why he was so... she wanted to say _ornery,_ toward her, she had no idea. Didn't care, though. He wasn't helping.

The actual battle was uneventful. A couple of Powder Gangers showed up the next morning, after Charlie spent the night camped out in a little trailer north of the saloon. She noticed her hands, finally, and realized she was a nail-biter.

 _Anxious._ She was definitely an anxious person. Everything that was going on, she managed to push through. But she was so jumpy that after the Powder Gangers were all dead, she'd collapsed onto a fence post. No one went near her, and it took her altogether too long to recover.

Why she was so anxious... was it because she was a _criminal?_ Because her boyfriend had been taken off to the NCRCF and she was looking over her shoulder constantly, afraid she would be next? Or was... was it because she had been shot in the head? Her hands shook too much, her heart raced like running water, she felt like she might crack and explode into shrapnel. Was she like that before?

Part of her wanted to ask Doc Mitchell if Charlotte was that way. But part of her felt so guilty for leaving him and his wife―her probable parents―in the way that she had, and maybe causing her mom to―to _die,_ from her combining illness and heartbreak. He hadn't _said_ that was it... but she'd thought... and she didn't _want_ to.

Charlie wiped her face with a sleeve and sighed. If she'd made her mom die from grief... how could she _live_ with herself? And... the doctor didn't want to let her think she was Charlotte, even if it was fairly obvious. Maybe he was afraid she would hurt him again. Run off and... and break hearts again.

She had to get out of Goodsprings. Leave and figure it out, and come back when she could actually say she was sorry and _why._

Charlie had sixteen grenades and didn't know what was going to happen. But, she...

She left, anyway.

* * *

She hit the highway southeast and didn't stop walking until the Pip-Boy beeped. It wasn't very loud, but it startled her into jumping about three feet into the air.

Why am I so skittish? she thought. Her face burned, but at least no one was around to see it. She looked at the thing on her wrist. She'd only taken it with her because her eyesight was so poor―she knew it was, she could barely recognize the Vegas Strip from here.

Charlie was momentarily distracted by the sight of the tower to the north, wondering why she remembered Vegas. Had... she lived there? Had she and the man she ran off with gone there? Or... did she... her head hurt.

Doc Mitchell said he came from a Vault. The jumpsuit proved that. Had she lived in the Vault, too? She... couldn't remember that. Hell, she wasn't even completely sure she _was_ this Charlotte Mitchell. It was all so confusing.

She kept her eyes on Vegas. A blurry tower in the distance, dark against the sky. At night it would light up like a beacon, showing the wasteland that hope still existed... Why was she thinking that? It didn't make any _sense._

After a time of squinting at the thing, she turned her attention back to the Pip-Boy. Jean Sky Diving was the name of the location that had been entered automatically into the wrist computer. Charlie blinked at it. Why was _that_ familiar, too? She rubbed her eyes and sighed out, trying not to let the frustration get to her.

A sharp snap sounded behind the building and she jumped again. Put a hand to her heart and let her eyes widen, staring at the weathered wood of the tiny building. What―was it a gecko, a coyote, a―a person? God, she didn't know how she'd managed to _survive_ out here on her own―much less get the courier job―if she always acted like _this!_

Charlie looked at the Pip-Boy for a moment, and held up 86 with her other hand. She studied the highway lines, then angled herself south, and started walking. Kept her eyes open and her feet moving, and ran right down the way toward Primm.

The place was set up with an NCR barricade. Charlie's heart lurched at the sight of the soldiers. If she was a criminal, how did she get past them to pick up deliveries? Were they _not_ looking for her? What―what did she say to get past?

She didn't know. Maybe it would be better to... just get it over with.

Charlie walked up to Primm, along the highway. One of the soldiers stopped her, making her heart leap into her throat―but it was only a warning. A warning that the town was overrun with the very same men she had just exterminated in Goodsprings. A warning to stay away.

Powder Gangers again. Charlie sighed, and slowly made her way into town. If... she helped to create this mess...

She was going to have to _clean it up._


	4. Playback's a B―

Note: Convoluted, I mentioned that, right?

* * *

Charlie muffled a short shriek as she injected herself with her last stimpak, sitting on the access roof to the Bison Steve's derelict roller-coaster. She could hear the last convict out on the rails, yelling at her to show her face, as she huddled against the side of the building and tried to calm herself down.

Really... she _had_ been okay with coming in and taking them down. Until she ran into that ridiculous deputy. Beagle had hightailed it out of the hotel shortly after she told him there were no more convicts on the first floor. An asshole and a coward, she thought. Here she was, frightened half to death by simply being around the convicts. He couldn't be bothered to do the job assigned _to_ him, and help her get rid of the rest of them.

Never mind that it was her way of solving a problem she might have caused. She still... still _dealt_ with that problem. It was _probably_ her problem. She was mostly convinced of that, now. Wasn't sure if she'd made it so the Powder Gangers could take on the guards―so that they could break out, and she could get _him_ free―

She winced at herself. She hoped she hadn't been a part of the jailbreak. Meant more deaths on her conscience, more than possibly her mother and the terrible heartbreak that her death had brought to Charlie's possible father. She didn't even want to _imagine_ that she were a more horrible person, more than destroying her _own_ family.

Didn't know how she might live with herself, if she _was_ that person.

Charlie lifted herself up and eyed the distance to the convict up on the rails, and brought up 86 to aim it. Would be a tricky shot... _maybe._ Her aim was far better than she'd expected, the way her hands shook. And she was surprisingly competent with explosives―alarmingly so, considering the Powder Ganger's primary weapon was dynamite―

Her hand twitched against the trigger. And here she was, using that weapon still. A soft thunk and a second or two passed, and Charlie watched the man flying up into the air. If the grenade impact hadn't killed him, the fall to the ground did. She grimaced as the body hit the dirt with a wet crunch.

At least... these asses certainly deserved wasteland justice. Not the pandering cushy jail sentence they had received in the NCRCF, but a swift cold rebuttal of fire and steel. It made her feel a little better to have the convicts out of Primm.

The convicts all dealt with, she went to the Mojave Express. Johnson Nash, the man in charge, gave her the rundown. Her order, her route, why she'd gone south. Told her about the other who gave up the job for her to have.

"Another Courier?" she thought out loud. Someone who had given up the job, on purpose. _Why?_ It made her extremely nervous. Why had this person declined, let her take the job, and where _was_ he, now? Was he... was he someone she _knew,_ or had been involved with, in the past?

She didn't know, still. She didn't even feel anything about it, other than anxious. Probably should chalk this one up to pure fright, she told herself. _I bet he didn't even see my name, just the thing I was delivering._ She'd... trusted her intuition, up to this point. And it hadn't given her a reason not to; reminding her she knew Joe Cobb, and how horrible a person he'd been.

The delivery, though, she thought about that. Wasn't sure yet, _why_ she was a courier. It seemed convenient for her, if she'd wanted to stay in the area of the NCRCF, and the Express was designed for short-range deliveries. Nothing too far north or south, and she wouldn't have gone very far _east―_

Her head spiked with pain, at the bullet site. East was, _what?_ Ugh, she wished she could understand why she hurt.

She thought about the delivery. That chip. She had to get it back. She talked to Nash, asked him about the lay of the land. He told her there were Deathclaws up in Sloan, after the blasting stopped. The blasting that stopped because the Gangers were out of their cells and free, because they stole the explosives―

Charlie covered her face and curled herself up into a ball after she got outside. Pushed herself into a corner where she could hide, and cried. Everything was all _her_ fault, God, she was so _stupid!_

Everything _she'd_ _done_ ―had made the lives of people she _didn't_ know, people she _should_ know, and people she _definitely_ knew, but hated―she'd made their lives end, by her actions. Everything was so fucked up, right now!

Charlie let the tears come, because she knew it was better to let them out. If she kept them inside, they would ferment and make her worse. And she knew it wasn't going to be the last time she cried―

 _It was all her fault!_ God, she didn't know if she was _strong_ enough to take advantage of the clean slate she'd been given!

She cried herself into exhaustion, curled up into a crumbling brick corner near the Mojave Express, passing out on the debris.

* * *

Eight grenades left.

Charlie cracked open her rifle and examined it, her journey south stopped at a campsite near the Mojave Outpost. She'd been eyeing the statues towering above her, nervously, thinking about what she remembered. Trying to jog more memories into coming forth.

The... eggs, that they had been paid to mule, had been left in a small cave to the southeast of the Outpost. She remembered feeling the warmth in sewn pockets, a skirt modified to hold them. She felt the weight of the things against her legs as she walked slowly up the hill to the Outpost. The smile on _his_ face as he told her to take her time, and promised her it would be okay.

 _She..._

She remembered almost getting _caught._ Charlie stared blankly at the statues and felt the memories sliding back into her head, dialing up her anxiety as they locked into place. Her breaths came a little faster, her head rang with pain. But she _remembered._

He had been talking to the NCR soldier at the desk while she waited nervously, behind him. Some woman with a loud mouth and red hair had bumped into her as she came through the door, causing Charlie to fall and land on her knees―and break a few eggs―and the sticky mess had made her panic. She'd... thrown off the skirt, and bolted out the door, crying apologies.

And _he'd_ ―oh, God, his _face_ as she fled out the door, his arm held tightly by the NCR soldier―

Charlie blinked back tears, her vision swimming. He was just a _teenager,_ like her. They were so, _so_ stupid to do that. Why had she thought it would be _okay?_ She loved him, but she―she ought to have convinced him otherwise. How―how _long_ had it been since she'd done that, and why did she not know it was wrong?

Charlie snapped 86's barrel back into position and laid it across her lap, staring at the dead campfire. She did know that she became a courier because she... wanted to stay near the prison. She'd found out he went to the NCRCF after a few weeks of hiding in the hills, and she couldn't visit him. Not because it was an all-male prison, but because she was terrified that the NCR would find out it was her who helped him smuggle those eggs.

But she did stick around, and pass notes to the convicts working the explosives up in the quarry, at Sloan. She had made every effort to make sure he was alive, and then she had tried to get him a message and tell him she was sorry.

She'd bribed the one worker to let her see him, when he worked there. He... hadn't wanted to forgive her, right away, but he'd come around when the others started talking about escaping. He'd―she wiped her eyes. He'd _used_ her? No, that didn't feel right.

Maybe he might have been used, himself. By that Cooke person, the one that was the one behind the escape plan. Because of Cooke, she'd helped him get those explosives―

Charlie curled herself up into a ball again. She had been the reason behind _everything._ She was why they'd escaped. Why! Why was she so _unbelievably stupid!_

And she'd... definitely caused more death. Deaths that ought to be on her conscience.

Her chest ached almost as badly as her _head_ did.

* * *

Charlie dragged herself along the road, heading east. Avoided the Outpost. Headed toward the fires she saw burning in Nipton.

If she _died..._ maybe it might right the wrongs she'd caused. Maybe karma would fix revenge on her for the people who she'd damned to death through her stupid actions. She didn't even want to try, anymore. She was a bad person. She remembered, and if she couldn't keep the memories hidden, she would have to live with them... as punishment. Punishment until she _died._

It was more pain to imagine, her having to live with the memories, rather than dying swiftly. Knowing that she'd _earned_ such pain―

Charlie's feet stopped before she walked into the men lined up in Nipton. She'd seen the Gangers up on the crosses, but paid them no mind. They were no longer as scary as the memories in her head. She saw the dogs growling before her, yellowed teeth bared at a stranger. Saw the formation of the men. The... red uniforms...

Charlie blinked in surprise and looked up into the face of a coyote-headed man, staring down at her with a curious expression. Her eyes widened, at that awful "familiar" feeling again, at the way her heart thudded sickly against her chest.

 _Oh, if there is a God, please let me die here,_ she thought. _Just open the sky and strike me down and let me go to Hell, already._

"You may pass," the man said, softly. "But do tell whoever you come across, of the power of the Legion. _We_ can handle the rest."

She was confused. "What?" she asked, screwing up her face. Her heartbeat was a sharp drumming against her ribs, now. A painful song to have, and playback was a _bitch._

"Passage for couriers is allowed," he said, in the same weirdly soft voice. "Especially those who have been of such use to the mighty Caesar, before. A shame that your companion is not _alive,_ to be granted such privilege."

Charlie's sack hit the ground, her arms sliding down as she fell to her knees. "He― _he's_ _dead?"_ she asked, not sure what to believe.

"Of course. He betrayed Caesar. The only punishment for that... _is_ death." The man in the coyote hat stared at her, curiously. "You do not recall? The reason that _you_ still live?"

"...He was _Legion?"_ she asked, her voice nearly gone from her throat. _"I was?"_

"Curious," the man said. "You have no memory."

"I..." she felt the sob catch in her throat. "I _don't_ remember," she said, blinking away tears and hoping her voice wasn't as strained as she heard. "I was _shot in the head―"_

The man nodded at her. "Of course. Apologies. _I_ am Vulpes Inculta. And _you..."_ He tilted his head at her gently. "You were to deliver _more_ than just those creatures into NCR territory."

Charlie wanted to jam her fingers into her ears and press them so far in that she could stab her brain. _No more! No more―I am not this―I am not this horrible person that everyone is telling me I am―_

 ** _No more!_ ** her brain screamed. She could barely breathe, the panic was so tight in her chest―

"Would you like to know, courier?" Vulpes asked, moving a hand to stroke his chin lightly. "About your past?"

 _"No!"_ she breathed, before she toppled onto the sand.

Charlie passed out again, but this time she was pretty sure it was from being unable to _breathe―_


	5. Missing

Charlie jerked and threw a hand out, moving herself sideways and damn near falling off of a mattress with a creaky bed frame attached to it. She stopped herself by grabbing the edge of the grimy mattress, then pushed backwards and away from a young woman sitting beside her. _What_ was― _who was―_

She paused, and groaned loudly, cradling her head.

Pain, _again,_ and waking up again... not knowing _where_ she was. Not _remembering_ where she was. Her whole body was sore. What _happened?_

"Man, you really got the shit beat out of you," the woman said, with laughter in her voice.

Charlie looked up and saw immediately that the woman was a NCR soldier. Her blood ran cold in her veins, freezing her to her core. Oh, _God,_ she was―she saw the room was tiny and filled with bunk beds. Not―a _good place to be―_

Her heart was about to explode, how fast it was beating. The woman raised an eyebrow and gave her a concerned look. "You okay?" she asked, and the worry in her voice thawed enough of the ice in her blood that she unfroze.

"I-I don't know," she breathed, trying to calm down. "Wh-where am I?"

"Ranger Station Charlie," the woman said, leaning back in her chair. "We found you down by the tracks, a little way across. Someone beat you up and left you, I think. Didn't _rob_ you, so..." she shrugged. "Musta been your man, or something."

Charlie blinked. _"Which_ station?" she asked, confused.

"Charlie," the woman said.

Charlie started to laugh. _"O-oh,"_ she said, when she gained control of herself again. "That's my name. I thought you might know who I am―"

The soldier gave her a confused look in return. "You musta got your head hit _too_ hard," she said, leaning forward interestedly.

"Uh," Charlie said, and closed her eyes. "I... I _guess_ so." She... what happened? She remembered walking east from the Outpost, but how did she manage to find her way up the railroad tracks to the ranger station?

"If you can't remember anything, you probably should rest a while," the woman told her.

 _"No,_ thank you," Charlie said, sounding more confident than she felt. The words came easily, the excuse. Maybe that was part of her past―but she didn't _like_ that. Didn't like that she could think up a lie so quickly.

"I was... heading to _Novac,_ anyway, and there's a doctor there, I can see her." Charlie cleared her throat. She did remember the doctor in Novac―

Why did she remember that place, the doctor? What―Charlie groaned again and held her head. She'd been heading for _Nipton,_ hadn't she? Not Novac. Novac was a stop on the way to―

 _Vegas._ Her delivery! She'd had it stolen! And― _God,_ her head hurt. She cradled it and rubbed at the skin, feeling the scar from that shot to the head. _That―_

...She remembered, again. The shot to her head, the burial, the waking up in a house owned by a man who might have been her father. Up to the road before she reached Nipton―

Someone must have attacked her on the road between Nipton and the train tracks. She―for the _life_ of her, she couldn't remember who. What had happened. Her head spun with memories, jarred loose by whoever had beaten her and left her on the tracks.

She did remember that she was a criminal. And she was sitting on the bunk of a NCR soldier. A soldier who didn't know who she was any more than she knew herself―a soldier who might be able to find out who she was―and―

Charlie bolted upright and pushed herself to the edge of the bed. "I have to _go,"_ she stressed, nervously. "I―I'll go get treated by the doctor―I was going there, anyway."

The soldier leaned back again, and sighed. "I can't keep you. Seems you need help, though. I can't escort you out―hell, I'm not even supposed to be in here, watching you."

Charlie shuddered, involuntarily. Help from the NCR―at this point, she was almost certain that she would be found out for the smuggling. "I think I can manage on my own," she muttered, putting her feet to the floor. _Get out of here, get out of here,_ she kept telling herself.

"Hey, though, our Andy's in Novac. Staying at the motel," the woman added. "If you need anything, you talk to him, okay? He's bummed about being discharged. Might cheer him up to have a pretty woman visit." She winked and grinned and Charlie stared at the dimples in her cheeks.

"Okay," she said, slowly. "I'll tell him... you said _hi."_

Charlie stepped out of the ranger station in a hurry, and let her feet guide her toward Novac. The sun was just about to rise over the mountains, bathing everything in golden light. If only she were walking toward that light... if only she were dead. Charlie cried to herself, on the tracks.

It was painful, thinking about staying alive.

* * *

"My word," Dr. Straus said, seating Charlie at a tent in the middle of town. "What in the world happened to you?"

She'd paid up front. Easiest and quickest way to get herself seen, and she didn't really want to answer any questions. "I guess I hit my head," she mumbled, and tried to shrug.

 _"I'd_ say... someone fell off a cliff. Am I right?"

Charlie made a noncommittal noise as the doctor tapped a stimpak with her fingers. "Well, either way, you're keeping me in business." She injected the stimpak and shrugged. "Alright, you should be right as rain here in a moment or two."

"Thanks," Charlie said, quietly.

Still couldn't remember... what happened between the ranger station and Nipton. The stimpak made her feel a lot better, but her head still ached when she tried to remember how she'd been attacked. What had happened, she didn't know. It didn't _feel_ like she'd fallen off the rocks.

Charlie sat in the tent until her head stopped throbbing, and stared at the dinosaur across the way. It was... it was strange, that huge monster looming over the metal lot. Unworldly. It didn't look at all "familiar".

Thank God for _that._

She made her way into the parking lot and paused. There were a lot of rooms; couldn't knock on every one to give the message to Andy. Charlie chewed on her fingernails absently, then realized what she was doing and dropped her hands. _Dammit, I need to stop doing that―_

"Hey," someone said, passing her. Charlie's head whipped around to stare at the man as he was walking through the lot. Another―God, _another_ NCR soldier―

She shivered in the heat of the day. Had to stop that, too. It wasn't―it was suspicious. _Too_ suspicious. She'd get found out a lot faster if she didn't stop acting nervous.

"Hello," she replied, and dug her fingernails into her palm. "Hey, uh. Maybe you can give me directions?"

Charlie spoke with the man―Manny―for a long while. He wasn't NCR, not anymore. That made her feel a little better. He and his buddy had come to Novac to settle down, and he wasn't interested in going back to the military. She was... _safe_ from him, so long as she didn't get herself into trouble.

He told her where Andy's room was, but he also told her he had a job for her to do if she was interested. Charlie could use the caps. She wasn't broke, but―

Only eight grenades left, less than half of what she started with. She rubbed her face and nodded. "Okay," she agreed. She could go out and check the RepCONN place for him. And buy more ammo. Never hurt to have more ammo.

"Hey, and..." he shifted his weight, staring across the parking lot. "If you see Boone, you might want to steer clear."

Charlie blinked. "Who is Boone?" she asked, curiously. The way he said that, she wondered if this guy was someone like her. An outcast, or something. Someone no one liked? No one but Manny, he sounded sad when he talked about him.

"We're friends... but we're not so friendly right now," he muttered. "His wife took off. He hasn't said a word to me since."

Another _missing_ person. Charlie felt the tears springing to her eyes and blinked rapidly to make them go away. Another person who left behind family, another person who destroyed someone in their wake, like _she_ had. She felt a sharp pain in her heart.

"I'll keep my eyes open," she said, and thanked him for the job opportunity.

She didn't feel _alone_ for running off, now. But that wasn't a _good_ thing.

* * *

Charlie spent the day in Novac, trying to budget. Her caps weren't low, but she needed everything she could get. She ate dinner while sitting on the dinosaur's tail, chewing a bit of gecko meat slowly, and stared up at the sky as it changed into the deep purple of night.

She... had half convinced herself to talk to this Boone person, mostly because his wife was gone. Because she knew _she'd_ caused that kind of pain herself. And she couldn't make it better for her dad, _ever._ Maybe she could... try to make _this_ guy feel better. Maybe help him find his wife.

And having an extra gun, maybe, to watch her back, would be helpful. Charlie felt 86 lying across her back, and knew she needed a more efficient gun. Grenades were expensive. Her caps were significantly reduced since her visit to the gift shop.

She waited until she was sure he would be inside the dinosaur. Couple people milled about the lot, walked into and came out of the gift shop. Cliff Briscoe went off with a wave, after nine o'clock. She waited for another hour, nervously biting her nails and trying to still her nerves as she thought about what she remembered.

...However she'd gotten to the ranger station, it _wasn't_ pleasant. She was still a little sore, and her head ached from trying to remember.

Charlie stood up abruptly and went into the gift shop. Didn't want to rehash the memories if she couldn't add to them―

 _"Don't sneak up on me like that!"_ the sniper hissed, as she came into the dinosaur's mouth.

Charlie was embarrassed at her reaction. She threw her hands up, slid onto her knees, and closed her eyes. After a long and tense moment, he lowered the rifle and frowned at her.

"I, _uh..."_ she blinked her eyes open and lowered her own hands, then slowly pushed herself up from the floor. Her face flushed with blood. God, that was _so_ bad―she had no idea what he would think about it―

"Are you Boone?" she whispered, her voice echoing around Dinky's mouth.

"Who wants to know?" he asked, quietly.

"I... uh, I figured I would say _hi,"_ she mumbled, lamely. "I'm Charlie."

"Yeah. Whatever. Hi. Now leave."

Charlie stared at the man for a moment. He wasn't what she'd expected, to be honest. The way Manny talked about him... the wife gone missing... Boone was _angry,_ and maybe that was why Manny told her to steer clear.

"I'm trying to find―" she started, feeling her fingernails digging into her hands again.

"I'm not in the mood for _conversation,"_ he snapped, turning to face the wastes again.

Charlie let her voice fade. After a long moment she opened her mouth again, and closed it. "Are you always this way with strangers?" she asked, nervously.

He shot her a look, then turned back to the wastes. After a time he turned back. "Okay," he said, slowly. "Maybe you can help me. You _are_ a stranger."

...It was an awkward conversation. He told her he only trusted strangers. Talked about his wife... gone missing... but he told her she was dead.

 _Dead._ Without any explanation. Charlie screwed up her face. "But if she's dead..." she asked, carefully, "how can I... help you?"

He shifted his weight and glared into the darkness above her head. "I don't need help with finding who took her."

Charlie watched his face. She'd― _never_ in her life, had she seen someone as _angry_ as he was―it made her heart do wet flip-flops in her chest. Her fingernails drew blood from her palms, anxiously.

"I want the bastard who sold her," he said.

Charlie's heart damn near exploded.


	6. Push

Note: Sometimes you have to write not-good stuff to clear the path for the good stuff

* * *

"Ow," Charlie muttered, adjusting herself on the small overpass above the road. She stared through the chain link fence, back toward Novac, for a moment. Thought about what had happened the night before.

Boone was crouched beside her, as still as death itself. He had the same look on his face, that stubborn silent anger, as he looked out over the RepCONN facility. Charlie was still intimidated by that. She held 86 a little tighter, watching his face for a long moment.

After―she forgot what'd happened during, for some stupid reason―after he dealt with the person who killed his wife, he'd said he was going to wander. She invited him along to help her clear out the facility and maybe see if he wanted to keep going along, after. Her rifle, and his rifle, together, meant less grenades for her to waste on single enemies.

She stared at his face for a long while. He was so _intimidating._ So angry and so tough and so cold to the world. He barely spoke, even when prompted. She wondered if that was how her father had acted when she ran off―how her father had acted after her mother died.

She was surprised the doctor had treated her for the head wound, after all that. If she really was Charlotte Mitchell she wouldn't have blamed him for letting her die.

She kept her eyes on Boone's jawline, watching the muscles moving. He was either pointedly ignoring her or thinking about something unpleasant. ...Maybe he was thinking about his wife.

She was dead, he'd said. Charlie didn't ask how he knew. With that look on his face... She didn't much _want_ to know why or how. He knew why and she had no business knowing unless he wanted to tell her.

Charlie had blanked out part of her investigation into who sold the woman. It made her concerned. Wondered what the hell was going on with her brain. She was worried that it meant something really bad―like she had brain damage, or something. More worried about herself than what was going with the terse sniper, right now.

She couldn't remember at all, what happened before Nipton. And it felt like some things, her brain _refused_ to remember. Like how she couldn't remember exactly why she knew Jeannie May Crawford had sold Boone's wife. She just knew, and she'd brought the woman out to the dinosaur like Boone asked.

She also couldn't recall who his wife was sold to, even though there was... Her head was fuzzy. _Was_ there proof? She felt like there _should_ have been proof. Boone had told her who took his wife, at one point. He would _want_ proof. She couldn't remember the conversation very well.

Charlie wiped her eyes on a sleeve when she felt the wetness, and sniffled a little. Why was she crying? Was it for his wife... or for herself?

When she looked back up at Boone he was watching her from the corner of his eye, behind his sunglasses. Charlie looked away quickly and felt her face flush in embarrassment. The quiet of the day drew out on the air, for such a long time it felt absurd. Felt like she should say something, just to make it go away.

"Are there ghouls down there," she whispered, staring at the grenade rifle in her lap. Her hands were trembling. If... she got comfortable enough not to be intimidated by him, it would be nice. Only way to do that was to press forward.

Boone turned his head to stare at her fully. "I counted six."

She pushed her hair out of her face and looked down the road toward the facility. "We could..." she started, wobbling slightly, "...draw them into a group so I can take them all down at once." She held up the rifle, as if she were offering it to him.

"Easier to take them out one by one," he said, his voice so quiet she could barely hear him.

"You think so?" she damn near whispered, trying to lower her voice below his.

Boone lifted his rifle to his shoulder with a soft sound, and looked through the scope. "Say when," he said.

Charlie stared up at him for a moment, then blinked away tears. More crying. Wished she could remember why.

"When," she breathed, watching his face. Boone's finger twitched on the trigger.

She'd never get used to this guy. He was too intense for her cowardly heart.

* * *

Charlie walked slowly and carefully through the debris outside of the RepCONN facility, avoiding the dead bodies of the ghouls. Boone followed without a word, through the bodies that littered the road and stairs.

She pushed her hair out of her face again and wiped her nose, still a little runny, before she opened the door to the place. It pushed inward about a foot before it stopped on something heavy.

Charlie frowned and peeked her head in the door, looking down into the darkness. Something big... vaguely blue-colored, with a shape like a person but not. She frowned. _Wait._ What―

She backed up, closing the door as she moved. Rubbed her eyes and breathed in slowly. Her stomach was roiling with nerves as it was, and now she felt that familiar ache in her chest... she remembered something about the thing in the doorway, something that felt important.

Big human shaped things―Super Mutants. Her head ached. She knew what they were, they were Nightkin. Nightkin were blue-colored. Charlie had... at one point, she remembered being terrified of Super Mutants. The memory was so distant it was nearly unreal.

Boone moved up closer to her as she was concentrating, making her jump. The thought slipped out of her head. Ugh, she had so much in her head... too many memories to recall, all at once.

Maybe it was okay to let some of them stay hidden, for now. Charlie sighed, pushed the feelings away as best she could, and opened the door again.

The basement was full of Nightkin. Charlie and Boone were crouched near an open doorway in the basement, staring into the darkness. She listened very carefully, hearing the far away sounds of a power generator and some very faint footsteps.

They had found a lot of ghouls on the top floor, but Charlie vaguely remembered that ghouls were drawn to radiation. As that part of her memory filled in, she understood that it was likely the ghouls had been drawn to a malfunctioning generator or some sort of waste disposal. She'd opted to look through the basement and see if the problem could be there.

"I don't want to start any fights, if we can avoid it," she whispered at Boone.

"Might be impossible," he muttered back.

"Still, we can try, right?"

Boone looked at the top of the door frame for a moment. Then he moved his hand in a rapid motion, causing her to flinch. Charlie pressed a hand to her chest, over the metal breastplate, and looked to see him offering her up a machete. "Back-up," he said, holding it out to her.

"What?" she asked, when her heart stopped thumping quite so hard.

"Tunnels," he muttered. He motioned to her rifle. She stared at him, confused. "You don't want to spend the next hour picking shrapnel out of your face," he added, pointedly.

Charlie grimaced. She hadn't even thought about that... if she fired a grenade in the maintenance tunnels, they'd both get hit by the concussive force. Not exactly a pleasant way to spend the afternoon, no.

"I―" she began, then bit her lip. "Don't you need it?"

"Just take it." The look on his face didn't give her much to argue with.

He did have a point. She needed something, other than her rifle. Charlie took the machete from his hand, gingerly, and held it sideways as she unlocked the door.

Creeping through the tunnels with the sniper behind her, she couldn't help but feel like she'd forgotten something, again. That same important feeling, before―and it wasn't Ranger Andy, she had dropped in to say hello to him before leaving Novac. It wasn't the chip she was delivering, or the man who she had to track down and get it back from. It was―

She stopped for a moment and listened to the tunnels, confused. Her concentration was disturbed by the loud report of a rifle behind her, as Boone started shooting into the dark. Charlie turned and faced down the enemy, joining him.

It was impossible to not start fights while he was so angry. She understood now.

* * *

Boone didn't say a single word to her until they were out in the wastes collecting the components that Jason Bright had asked her to get. Charlie was biting a fingernail and staring up at the dinosaur in Novac, wondering.

Jason Bright was an interesting person. Charlie had spoken to him about the Nightkin in the basement, and he'd thanked her for dealing with them. She didn't mention that, because of Boone's trigger-happy attitude, they'd had to kill them all to remove them. She hadn't even known there was a group of ghouls in the upper levels.

She wondered about Jason Bright. He was a good person, regardless of the snotty attitudes of people towards ghouls. Charlie could remember some real bad folks acting like ghouls didn't have a right to exist, in the wastes. She'd sat with Jason for a while―without Boone around―and discussed her situation.

Her criminal past. Jason seemed to think that everyone was capable of redeeming themselves in the eyes of others, though his own particular skill at expressing that to the man Chris Haversam wasn't holding well. They'd discussed Chris, too, but Charlie was more interested in hearing what he had to say about her past.

Because he was about to fly into the sky and never come back? Because he couldn't rat her out to the NCR, even? She chewed nervously on the edge of her thumb and tried to collect her thoughts. _Don't focus on the negative, remember?_

Charlie sighed out, blowing a bit of hair out of her face.

Jason told her that every person had a purpose. Chris' purpose was to aid them into the Great Beyond, and their purpose was to help him understand that he was not a ghoul as he thought. Jason mentioned offhand that he had been in a Vault, and Charlie's interest was piqued. She... could give it a try, to help Jason.

He also told her that even if she had done terrible things in the past, she would be able to make it better. Her job―the chip that had been stolen―should be her first priority, and once she completed that, she would have all the time in the world to reflect on her misdeeds. Time to sit and work out how to repay her family, to repay people she might have hurt. Time to remember what she had actually done.

"I feel that you are destined for something greater," he'd said, gently. "Our lives are imbued with power that we have yet to tap into."

"But..." she remembered sitting nervously in the dingy room, staring at the glowing ghoul. "I'm so scared―I can't think straight―and I keep getting frightened by everything."

"Paranoia is a trait reserved only for those who have reason to fear," he'd said, pointedly. "Your greatness starts at the lowest rung of the ladder. If you make your way to the top―" he'd smiled with one side of his mouth. "You will find the view as breathtaking as it is awe-inspiring."

"How do you know?" she'd whispered.

"I know," he'd murmured, "because I, too, was once a wayward soul in the wastes. And I have not yet reached the top of my ladder. Will you give me that push?"

She'd taken it to mean that he'd clawed his way out of his own darkness, almost literally. By becoming a Glowing One, he'd lit his own path. Charlie dropped her hand to her side.

She would give him that push. Helping him made her less scared. Helping Boone... had made her forget, but she hadn't stopped climbing.

"C'mon," she whispered to Boone, heading into the gift shop. Pushing the Bright followers up that ladder into their Great Beyond...

Would be one more step up the ladder for her, too.


	7. 2 of Swords

Note: minor edit. I'm tired.

* * *

Boone was quiet. He didn't talk to her. He didn't know what to make of the woman, just yet.

If he felt anything other than anger, it was probably pity. She couldn't see more than ten feet, from what he'd noticed. Might be why she used that grenade launcher, to make sure she hit her target. He hadn't seen her use it yet, but it was obvious her skill with the machete was just as terrible as his was.

He doubted she was much better with the rifle.

They were walking away from Gibson scrap yard and she'd damn near fallen over herself pulling that battered rifle from her back, aiming it into the distance with a funny squint to her eyes. Jumping at shadows, again. Something she did a lot of, being nervous.

"You need glasses," he said. Clamped his mouth shut after, wondered why he'd said anything. He didn't care if she couldn't see; she wasn't watching his back. He was looking out for himself, now. Watching her back, maybe. Hadn't decided if he wanted to stay with her.

Charlie's head spun on him, her wide brown eyes open as far as they would go. Her mouth opened briefly, as if to speak, before she jammed it shut and turned back to the wastes.

"There's nothing there," he added, after a long silence. He would have seen, before she did, if something was trying to sneak up on them. Charlie was skittish and trembling, and had been biting her fingernails when she thought he wasn't watching. _Scared._ He knew the feeling. Hated it.

Charlie breathed out, softly, and lowered her rifle to her side, wiping her face. Looked up at the sky for a second, and turned. Boone followed behind her as she carefully walked through the brush on the wasteland floor.

"I know I need glasses," she told him, before they reached RepCONN. Her voice was soft. Fearful.

Whatever the hell she was scared of, it wasn't gonna be found in Novac. He knew that; everything that had been a threat was gone now. That _bitch―_

Boone looked away from the woman and swallowed the lump in his throat. _Stay angry. Better that way._

Charlie opened the hatch into the basement of the facility and they climbed down. She did all the talking. Spoke with the strange ghoul. Gave up the toy rockets and the other thing, spoke with the man who thought he was a ghoul.

As long as the rockets didn't land on Novac, Boone didn't give a shit what the ghouls did. Better they be gone from the place and not bothering town, anymore. Manny and him, they'd talked about it before―

 _Before―_

Didn't want to think about that. Focused himself on the woman. The woman who was clearly scared half to death of something or someone and kept looking over her shoulder. Who acted like she was about to piss herself when he spoke to her.

He wondered who she could be scared of, but it was a stupid thing to wonder. Probably, the Legion. Charlie hadn't spoken about the Legion, hadn't asked him _who_ took―

He'd told her, though. And she'd accepted his knowledge without question. Agreed to help him with more conviction than he'd guessed she had. She _had_ to be familiar. The wasteland was crawling with those _fuckers._

Boone's hands tightened into fists at his side. Not for very much longer, if _he_ had a say in it.

"Thank you," Charlie whispered, talking to the glowing ghoul.

"You will find your way," he replied. "Stay on the ladder."

Whatever that meant, Boone didn't know. He followed Charlie up to the observation area and watched with her as the doors opened and rockets shot off into the sky. It was... impressive. If Carla had been able to see it―

 _Pain._ Boone bit down on his tongue to keep himself from losing his head to the emotion welling in his chest. Carla would have been impressed, but―probably just grateful the ghouls were gone. He could give a rat's ass about them, but Carla was picky. Took her a while to learn to like people.

Except for him. His throat tightened up. He should have taken her home when he still had the chance.

"Boone?"

Charlie was watching him. He turned his head to her. "You coming to Vegas with me?" she asked, carefully. "I... could use the help."

Boone stared at her through his sunglasses. He didn't have anything else to do. Nothing to hold him to Novac. Told her he was going to wander.

He'd expected he'd wander to the Cove. Not go back to Vegas, where he'd met―Boone tasted blood. Let up the pressure on his tongue. Didn't know if he was strong enough to handle going back to Vegas. He ought to, he supposed. One last hurrah on the Strip before...

Before he got himself killed.

He _was_ going to get himself killed. One man against an army―he'd been there, before, and he'd run away like the _fucking coward_ _he_ _was._ Promised himself he wouldn't do that again. He _kept_ his promises.

That made him think about those assholes coming out the east, Legionaries he'd shot on sight. Walking through the mountains, like they owned the place. That ranger that was stationed on the road, the NCR soldiers watching Nelson.

It was a start, he figured. A _test,_ at least. He didn't want to travel with some woman, he couldn't gauge.

"...Boone?" she asked again, her face screwed up in concern. One hand nervously plucked at the edge of her metal armor, the other shaking nervously at her side. He snapped to attention and stared at her with a glare that wasn't meant for her.

That was bad. Only made her more scared. She was gonna get herself killed, too, acting like that. ...Maybe they'd go down swinging, together. Might be nice to have someone fighting beside him, again. Like Manny had.

 _Fucking Manny._

He fought against the hate brewing in his chest. "If you want," he managed, but the anger bled through anyway. _Save it for the Legion, man._

Charlie paled, deeply tanned skin turning ashen gray in the darkness of the observation room. "O-okay," she said, nervously.

That same fright she'd had. Didn't know if he was going to be any better for her than on her own. "Could go down to Nelson, first," he threw out. Had to start somewhere.

Charlie's fingers worked around the edge of her breastplate. "What's in Nelson?" she asked.

 _"Legion,"_ he said, spitefully.

* * *

Something was going on. Something maybe suspicious, maybe alarming. Boone wasn't sure which, or if it was both.

Charlie'd agreed to go with him to Nelson, figure out the lay. But she was acting like a different person. Less anxious. More... confident, more business-like. None of that nail-biting or trembling.

Made him wonder why. But his curiosity was nothing compared to his anger for the Legion. Charlie talked with the NCR ranger while he stared down into the camp at Nelson. The bastards down there knew they were being watched. They didn't care.

 _Wanted_ to be seen. Soldiers on crosses, put there to make the NCR remember why they were fighting the Legion. Wanted the NCR to see what they did to their enemies, so they would be afraid. Maybe even so they'd run away.

But the NCR didn't run away. He felt sick in his stomach again. _He_ shouldn't have run, back then. _He_ should have killed them all, when he'd found―

Boone closed his eyes and put his knuckles onto the edge of the rock, grinding the skin against the rough sandstone. Hurt like hell. _Good._

"There's no way we're getting into Nelson without being seen," Charlie said, moving up and crouching along the edge of the rock beside him. "I've got thirteen grenades. I can aim away from the soldiers, but..." she sighed and blew a strand of black hair out of her face. "I don't know if I can avoid hitting them."

He knew what she was trying to say. Didn't want to think out loud that you might kill someone who didn't deserve it, because it was the best way to keep someone out of those bastards' clutches. NCR called it _mercy._ But it wasn't mercy to murder someone who could still be saved.

He leaned more weight onto his knuckles and gave them a sharp twist, focusing on the pain. Knew what _he_ wanted to do. But didn't know if she would listen to him. Shouldn't have to. He wasn't exactly _friendly_ with her, yet.

"I don't want to kill them," she muttered.

 _Yeah._ He didn't want to, either. Watched her stand up, pull her rifle from her back, and glance down at him. He pushed himself up, and pulled out his own rifle. Stared at her, waiting for her to say something. To _do_ something.

"To hell with mercy killing. We're getting those guys out of there," she said, firmly. Popped open the rifle and checked it, then snapped it shut. "Let's go kick some ass."

That was more like it. The test was a good idea.

* * *

Charlie was coughing and spitting out blood by the end of the fight, holding her cheek where a machete had sliced into the flesh. She looked up at the crosses and made a short motion at Boone.

"Get them down? I'm going to make sure none of these bastards are still alive."

Boone only nodded, in reply. She moved silently around the camp, disappearing over the edge of a path. After a moment he heard the explosion of a grenade and he stopped working at the ropes to look in that direction.

All was quiet. Boone sliced through the last bit of rope and waited.

Charlie came walking back up the hill with the rifle on her shoulder, looking determined. Fresh blood seeped down her face as she came back to the crosses. "You done?" she asked, staring at him.

He nodded. The soldiers were limping back to the NCR camp by the road. None had died. It was more than he'd expected, really.

Watched her checking her rifle again, muttering to herself. She started walking back up to the road and the ranger, then motioned to Boone to follow.

He debated on saying something to her. Wasn't the same person, he was pretty sure of that. Something up with her. But the less scared version of Charlie was better than the other. The scared one might not have had the gumption to spare the soldiers.

Mightn't have bothered because she was scared, or because she didn't _have_ to save them. _She_ wasn't NCR. Even the ranger admitted that it wasn't likely the solders would make it out alive. Seeing loyalty like that... he felt better about sticking around.

"Mercy killing is a last resort. Glad you recognized we had options," he told her, quietly.

Charlie poked her cheek with her thumb, and shook her head. "I've caused enough death." She sighed, pushed her hair back behind her ears, and stared up at the sky. "But thank you, Boone. For staying with me."

He raised an eyebrow, slightly. "Didn't say I was," he started.

Charlie chuckled. "You're gonna, though," she said, before she started toward Novac.

* * *

The scared one was back, by the time they got over the bridge and came up next to the dinosaur. It was... really fucking _weird,_ actually. That was the wastes for you, he figured. Made you _crazy._

Made _him_ crazy, too.

Charlie stopped, planting her feet on the ground, and stared up at the dinosaur and at the town with a confused look on her face. She blinked rapidly for a moment or two, then started crying. Started wobbling, stepping to the side and grabbing the chain link fence to steady herself.

He didn't understand it. Had seen a lot of trauma, before. Soldiers missing arms, legs, heads. Skulls blown apart by bullets. Machete wounds that left the bone exposed to the air, skin hanging in ribbons. Bad shit that he wouldn't _forget._

Watching a woman cry after destroying a Legion outpost, so moved by her own emotion that she was incapacitated, shouldn't have been so confusing. Shit caught up with you out there, he knew that. NCR beat that into him, to numb himself from the horror. He could kill those bastards all day long and nothing would faze him.

Charlie cried for what felt like too long, sniffling and wiping her face. Blood smeared across her face from the open wound, tears mixing with and dripping down through the streaks. He watched, passively.

"Shit," she said, after a time. "D-did it again."

She knew about it, then. It wasn't his business to ask. He made a noncommittal noise and watched her straighten herself out, moving toward the motel. "Let's... let's take a break for now," she mumbled. "Get some sleep. Then we'll go."

"Yeah," he agreed.

She was right, though. He was going to stick around.

Didn't have anything _better_ to do.


	8. Even Money

Note: Had to decide how to run this, but I am pleased with the outcome.

* * *

They'd stopped at a ridge overlooking Lake Mead. Visibility of the area was high, though they were nearly a mile away from the banks. Charlie was sitting at the edge of the rocks, crouched down into a ball with her chin on her knees and her eyes hooded by the setting sun. Boone stood near the edge, watching the east and the purple of night overtaking the sky.

Used to like this time of day, once. Meant he was about to spend the next twelve hours in the quiet of the night, just him and his rifle and the stars for company. The only thing he missed, when he was standing in the dinosaur mouth at nights, was―

He felt the painful twist in his chest. The approaching darkness only made him remember what he didn't want to remember.

 _He'd failed._ He _never_ failed.

Boone's jaw clenched. Being so high up, only reinforced the memories. Memories of him sitting in that sniper nest, the look on her face in his scope, the scrape of a finger against the trigger―

He tasted blood again. Pried his tongue out from between his teeth. Couldn't afford to keep hurting himself. It made it hard for him to concentrate on what might be creeping around. Away from Novac, that was more important than ever. Being so close to the Dam, he wouldn't be surprised to find Legion troops roaming about.

He'd like to find one soon. Relieve some of the anger that was building in his heart. A stopgap for the hatred, until he could exercise it more concisely onto that bastard _Caesar._

 _Yeah._ Kick some ass right now, then get into the Cove and fight through waves of Legionaries and ride a raft up to that fucker's house and―

And _die,_ but not until he got his revenge on _all_ those fuckers. _Yeah. That_ was a plan. A _definite_ plan, unlike whatever Charlie was up to. Her being scared, heading for Vegas...

The assholes on the Strip were gonna eat her alive. She probably knew it, too.

He was the only competent person in this partnership. The last day of travel had proven to him that she actually was helpless; she really _couldn't_ see for shit. Wasn't accurate beyond a ten foot radius with that grenade rifle of hers.

Really stupid, he thought, that she used a weapon that was only effective to her when _she_ was also inside of the danger it brought to her enemies.

Part of him figured she was fucked one way or another, and didn't want to give a shit about her. Wanted to let her go to Vegas on her own and get herself shredded. But... she'd helped him. And she was willing to go against the Legion without a thought, even if it was the "other" Charlie doing so.

Boone snorted. If he could figure out how to keep _that_ one around, he might not be traveling with someone who was essentially _Deathclaw bait._

She sniffled a little, like he'd said the insult aloud. He glanced at her, seeing her closed-in body language. Whatever the hell she was doing, he didn't know it was really a good idea to follow her. Might get himself killed a lot quicker than he wanted, if he kept along. Even if he felt the loyalty that came from killing Legionaries together.

He heard the soft shuffling of the wind over the rocks, as they waited for―hell, he didn't know. Maybe she was having her own little pity party, in her head. Seemed her _thing,_ and he wasn't one to pry.

That... horseshit after Nelson. Still made him a little uneasy.

Fuck it. He had nothing better to do, and she wasn't volunteering. If he just opened the wound and poked it real hard, he was bound to get a reaction. And be on his way, if the reaction was the one he _wanted._

"Listen," he said, quietly. She made no motion to tell him she noticed. Boone sighed through his nose, pressed his lips together and stared out over Lake Mead again.

Eventually she lifted her head, but didn't look at him. "What is it?" she asked, shakily.

He stared at the coming darkness with a steady eye before he looked sidelong at her. "I think I'm going to go my own way," he told her. "Not sure... this will work out."

Charlie's head spun on him so quickly she lost her balance, tumbling backward onto the ledge. "Y-y―" she started, her teeth chattering in her mouth. She fixed herself back into the huddled position, away from the edge of the rocks. _"Pl-please,_ Boone. I n-need your help," she stuttered. "I really... I really _do."_

He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She did need help. But not what he could offer. He wanted to take himself south and get away from the memories, away from the bright lights of Vegas. Not cavort about the mountains, waiting for her to jerk herself out of whatever depression she was in and make an honest go of―

Hell if he knew what she was doing. He couldn't see the lights from here, but he remembered the sight. He'd never forget. Vegas wasn't the right place for someone so skittish. Like _him,_ back before he'd met... Carla. _Goddammit._

Was a mistake to come back north. Too many memories.

"Don't think I'm the help you need," he muttered, turning his eyes back out to the distance. Camp Golf. Where First Recon had been stationed. He'd been good with a rifle, they gave him a chance. Where he'd met―

Manny. _**Again.** Fucking memories!_

Boone turned his head away, staring at the Hoover Dam. The two of them were so far up in the mountains, he could see the vague outline of the Legion camp across the way. Rage flooded into his heart. They were _right_ there. _Right_ _there!_ He could―

"I―" Charlie mumbled when she spoke, sometimes. Made her hard to understand, even with his halfway decent hearing. He glanced back at her, shifting his weight and feeling the rocks crunching under his boots. The rage was still in him, but the sound of her voice―a scared voice, needing help―it brought to the surface other thoughts, thoughts that made him remember―

He shoved that thought out of his mind so fast it took him a moment to hear what Charlie said next.

"I have... problems, _yeah,"_ she said, slowly but without that wobbling sound in her voice. "I'm losing memory. I got shot in the head, I... can't remember who I was."

And here _he_ was, forced to remember _everything._ He'd trade her in an _instant._

On the outside, Boone grunted noncommittally. Lots of bad shit happened to people in the wastes. One person wasn't any more special than the last, including him. Unless they made themselves special, they wouldn't be worth thinking about.

The words stuck in his head, though. "Was." Not who she actually was right now, but who she _had been._ Like she had to make herself anew, rise up out of some proverbial grave or some shit. Not something he could do.

He wasn't who _he_ used to be, either. Had a taste of bright sun and sand, but got _burnt._ Felt the searing pain of his karma come back on him, karma come back to haunt him, taunting him with all the bad shit he'd ever done. All the bad shit that took out the innocents around him―

Fucking _karma._ Took everything from him and left him a shell, and still wanted more. It was why he wanted to take the easy way out and get himself killed. Why he couldn't keep going, because he'd never escape his punishment.

A murderer was still a murderer, no matter what good deeds he did. He'd get his. Only a matter of _time._

"Bad things happen to me," Charlie said, curling up into a ball again. "And I think I'm the reason why."

Boone breathed out―hadn't realized he was holding his breath and his lungs ached when he breathed in again―and tried to order his thoughts better. "Join the fucking club," he muttered, staring angrily at the purple sky.

Charlie glanced up at him, sharply. She made a strange face, then turned herself toward the lake. "Jason Bright told me to keep trying, but..."

"What's the point?" he said, under his breath.

"Y-yeah." Charlie sighed and closed her eyes. "I... I killed people. I know that. I did bad things. Real bad things... and my mom died from grief... I did that." She wiped her face roughly. _"I did that."_

Boone shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "Takes a lot more than that to deserve bad karma," he said, and clamped his teeth down on his tongue. If this was a pissing contest, he'd win _hands down._

"More than―causing a bunch of people to die because―" her voice started to crack with emotion "―because you helped a bunch of goddamned convicts escape?"

He turned his head with a snap to stare at her. She'd buried her head in her knees again, her body shaking silently.

If he understood her correctly, she was admitting to being part of the NCRCF breakout, and― _hell,_ he ought to drag her by the scruff of her neck back to Nelson and that ranger! Bunch of rapists and murderers let loose on the damn wastes because of her? Spitting in the NCR's eyes like that? Killing _soldiers,_ who'd been at a disadvantage _already―_

"Why," he asked, before he thought too hard.

"I don't _know,"_ she said, sobbing. "If I did, I'd―I'd probably _kill myself!"_

His mind was tired of remembering. Tired of thinking about everything that led up to his standing on a cliff at the edge of the Dam, tired of trying to come up with a excuse for why he should leave. Tired of trying to figure out what the hell was going on with this stupid woman and her ridiculous story―

Tired of wondering if he could believe her, what with that _other_ person bouncing around in her head.

"I don't know who I am," she mumbled, sounding as upset as ever. "I am not―I don't know _who_ killed those people―"

"You sided with those bastards," he said, angrily. "It doesn't matter _who_ the fuck you are."

 _"I―I―"_ she stammered, shuddering violently, rocking back and forth.

"You gonna side with the _fucking Legion, **too?"**_ he snapped, his hands so tightly clenched into fists that he could feel the nails break the skin. Just what he needed, an excuse to kill _another_ helpless fucking woman―

He could swear the stars in the sky were swimming a little more than usual, through a shine of tears in his eyes that he _refused_ to let loose. He'd _already_ paid his debt with tears, once. _No more._

"No, I won't side with the Legion," the "other" Charlie said, suddenly. He hadn't noticed the change. She stared up at him with a frown, eyebrows drawn together over pitch-black eyes in the dark of the fully-turned night.

"Whatever," Boone challenged, disbelievingly.

"You don't believe me, that's fine. I'm only here to watch _her_ ass, so she lives to see this stupid delivery done." Charlie turned her head to look away, rolling her eyes. "I ain't dying for some courier horseshit, _again."_

Rolled with the punches. Had to, because this one was better at shooting shit and pretty damn hard. _"So who the hell are you,"_ he growled.

"Call me Charlotte, if you care," she muttered. "Charlie's got _enough_ problems. I gotta get her to Vegas. Soon." Charlotte looked back at him with a fierce look. "She dies, _I_ die, and that already _happened,_ once. I ain't letting it happen again."

"You have a plan?" he snapped, grumpily. Just what he needed. Some psycho with two people in her head, fucking up shit in the wastes. Either _one_ of them could kill him in his sleep without a reason.

...Seemed like this one was preferable, though. She only came out when he talked about the Legion. And she hated the fucking Legion.

His **_favorite_** topic.

"...Going to get revenge?" he asked, kicking a rock off of the cliff edge.

"I'll try," she said, looking at his feet. "I don't even know who shot me. But that damn chip was taken by some asshat from Vegas. _He_ said so."

He breathed out, as patiently as he could. She meant Manny, and he didn't want to hear―"You won't get very far," he muttered. He moved his eyes to stare at the rock wall above her head.

"Not without a plan. You game?"

Boone turned his gaze back to hers and saw the look in her face, the determination. She'd been good in Nelson. She wanted him around to keep Charlie out of deep shit, and he...

 _Well, shit._ He really _didn't_ have anything better to do.

"Maybe," he said, calmly, "but you better hold to your promise. I only came along to kill _Legion_ bastards."

"Boone," Charlotte said, pushing herself up and moving to stand beside him, "when I'm done, we'll paint the Mojave _**red."**_

He smiled for the first time in six months.

 _Hell yeah._


	9. Hand in Glove

Note: Didn't want to post this so quickly and get hopes up. It poured out last night, and I feel like it sums up the last chapters before I tackle Vegas.

* * *

Charlotte wanted to like the sniper, but he made it really hard. She wanted more than anything to tell him she felt the same about the Legion as he did―if anything because it was a core part of her being―and she wanted him to trust her a little more than what he'd afforded a random stranger in asking for such important help.

But it didn't seem like he wanted to trust her _or_ Charlie, and that, well... she didn't blame him. But she couldn't let the matter lie. Not if he was gonna tag along and not if she intended to use him to protect her ass when Charlie was awake.

Had to make a determined effort to keep the goddamn Legion in her mind, too, just to keep Charlie locked up inside. It wasn't very pleasant. Nothing about the Legion was pleasant. _Nothing._

She knew _why_ she existed. She wasn't the original Charlotte, but she was her voice. She was there, when those―when Vulpes ordered his men to attack her, because she'd used her voice to tell him _exactly_ what she thought about his shitty little cavalcade.

She grinned to herself. A beating she took in stride, up until she lost consciousness. She'd even landed a hit on Vulpes himself, knocking his stupid coyote hat to the wayside. Man, if she could―she'd burn that hat _and_ his fucking smirk right off of his face―

Charlotte felt a little bad for that beating, though. Poor Charlie got her ass handed to her and the only reason Vulpes hadn't killed her was because he knew more than Charlie ever _could._ Charlotte... she knew most of it. Their hand was the one who'd done the bad shit in the NCRCF, but Charlotte didn't know the hand as well as she knew Charlie.

What Boone was doing, Charlotte had done for a long time. Protecting Charlie from bad people, from her own hand. Except Boone was better at shooting, because no matter what Charlotte did she was still nearsighted. And Charlie refused to use anything but her trusty old grenade rifle, 86.

Charlotte had cleaned it and checked the ammo, but kept that machete from Nelson just in case. It was a back-up, like Boone told her back in RepCONN. Good to have for those times that she was around and Charlie wasn't being a jackaninny. The Legion weapon was a constant way to make sure Charlotte could "wake" up, too...

And she got the feeling that she was gonna _need_ to be awake. A _lot._

"If we're going to travel together," Boone told her, after they'd come down from the mountains and were heading toward the highway, "you're gonna have to come clean."

She studied the side of his head, staring at the stubble visible under the edge of his First Recon beret. She got his problem. She knew why he didn't want to trust her. Charlie should have kept her goddamn mouth shut about that shit, but she didn't know what to think and Charlotte hadn't been awake until Boone forced her hand.

"I'll tell you what I know," she said, flatly. Spun 86 around in her hand and eyed a blurry yucca in the distance. "What I can tell you. Charlie's not very reliable. But I am."

He gave her a piercing look. Charlotte blew a piece of hair out of her eyes and holstered the rifle. "Well, she ain't," she replied. "She runs away from the smallest problem. Who do you think helped you in Novac? Wasn't her, she can't handle thinking about the fucking Legion."

It was a long wind-swept moment before he came back with, "Why?"

Charlotte was used to terseness. Charlie was forever stumbling on words. Sometimes it was better to say what you needed with terseness. Sometimes people reacted better to fewer. Boone... she shot him another glance.

He probably needed a long explanation. Lot more went on in his head than he let on, she was willing to bet.

"It's a long story," she said, nonchalantly.

 _"Humor me,"_ he snapped, darkly.

Yeah, he was still in a mood. She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Alright." Thought about where to begin. Approached the subject with a keen eye toward her own participation, and how to avoid the really bad shit.

"Charlie was born in that Vault up on the Strip," Charlotte said, drawling slightly. "Her daddy was the doctor, and he went out into the world for a time. When he came back, Mr. House was gonna fill in the Vault and force everyone out."

Her feet hit the asphalt, slowing slightly. It was dark out, and she could barely see anything. "Doc Mitchell and his wife and Charlie went out, tried to get to California. Momma got sick in Goodsprings, so they stopped. Charlie didn't like it there. Her momma got sicker, and they decided to stay. So Charlie grew up there, kind of. She left town with some gang boy from the hills, after a time."

Boone was watching her, she could tell. Little light from behind his dark as hell sunglasses was shining at her. Charlotte cleared her throat, glanced around. Tried to figure where they were. Bad time to travel, in the dark. Just about anything could sneak up on them.

She kicked herself in the ass, got back to the story. Didn't do her any good to hide from the truth― _she was how Charlie'd hidden._

"But this stupid-ass boy," Charlotte said, making a disgusted noise. "He struck a deal with the Legion. She went along with him. ...You know how they treat women."

There was a long silence. Neither one spoke. It was probably better that way. Charlotte had been born because Charlie needed protection. She wasn't gonna explain _that_ to him, wasn't something she knew how to explain.

Boone watching her. Charlotte ignored him. "Anyway, he got hisself arrested for smuggling nightstalker eggs into NCR territory and Charlie left him behind."

She left out the part about helping him. Boone didn't need any more ammo for hating on either one of them, not with what she was about to tell him. Charlie was no angel. _Her_ hands were idle, and idle hands were the devil's plaything.

Charlie'd had no fucking clue what to expect from wastelanders. She'd never really understood how the world worked. That's what happened when you spent most of your life inside a Vault, and only a few years in a decent community working hard to keep out the shittier elements of the Mojave.

Fucking _innocent,_ and she'd just run off with that Viper or whatever the hell he was. Didn't know a lick about keeping herself alive. No wonder what happened, _did._

"...She started working for some real shit boss," Charlotte said, carefully. Tried to keep the emotion out of her voice, but it still wavered. That had been a rough time for Charlie, young and pretty and―vulnerable. Taught her more about the wastes in ten months than fifteen years would have brought her.

Charlotte remembered it more clearly than Charlie did... but those few months _were_ why she existed. Working for that―Charlotte hated to use the word "boss" but it was better than admitting to this _already-angry ex-NCR sniper_ that she'd worked for the fucking _Legion_ at one point―

"You do what you gotta do to survive," Charlotte said, more firmly. And wasn't that the truth? Was better than being hungry. Not better off than _dead,_ though.

Boone stepped around a pile of debris, taking his eyes off of her for a moment, and Charlotte breathed out in relief. She struggled to remember what had happened, next. After she wasn't needed to deal with Vulpes―or with the men who he― _he―_

She swallowed and coughed a little. Now she was starting to act like Charlie did, mumbling and not thinking straight. _Pull yourself together, or she's gonna take over again. This story ain't finished, yet._

If Charlotte could help it, it wasn't gonna be over for a _damn_ long time.

"Charlie knew how to use explosives. Got taught by some old-timer in Goodsprings," Charlotte explained. "She worked for that shitty boss, for a time, took up a front pretending to deliver packages for the Mojave Express out of Primm." She cleared her throat. "Those bombs... that shit the Powder Gangers used to escape. Charlie knew about it. She didn't want to help them escape, she just wanted to―"

How to explain that one to _Boone?_ Charlotte sighed, frustratedly. "Guess she was still in love with that stupid gang boy. You do stupid shit like that, for love."

He still hadn't said anything. Was still watching her from the corner of his eye, and frowning. Looked as grumpy as the day she'd met him. She wondered what he was thinking.

"Charlie didn't help them blow up the prison. That was another person. And if I _ever_ have the chance, I'll throttle her," Charlotte told him, angrily. And she meant that. If she could kill that hand that helped the Powder Gangers―

Couldn't tell him the whole truth. It was complicated enough, as it was. And she _would_ kill that bitch, one day, even if she had to throw herself into the fire with her.

Boone moved his eyes away from her, pulling his rifle from his back in a quick motion. He made no noise, staring out into the wastes. She heard the chirping of the ants before she could see them, sliding the rifle from her back and listening carefully.

After a moment, she moved and crouched behind the remnants of a guardrail, 86 in her hand and her eyes narrowed. Boone followed suit, creeping up to the edge of the road.

"Say when," he muttered, under his breath.

Charlotte watched the ants scuttling about on the desert floor for a moment. "I don't think they noticed us," she whispered, slowly. "We could avoid them... _and_ save some ammo."

He shot her a strange glance. Charlotte shrugged one shoulder. "I'm no paranoid creature. These guys―" she gestured at the fire ants "―they're going about their own business. We should probably be more worried about those mongrels down there."

She pointed out the dogs, milling around on the road beneath them. She'd seen the outline so often, before... Charlotte didn't like dogs. Especially Legion mongrels. She gritted her teeth and tried not to think about―

 _Vulpes was fond of dogs, and that bastard that raised them―_

Boone nodded. He moved his rifle lower, aiming. Charlotte watched and waited, her memories tormenting her deep inside her own head. There was a stacatto of shots and the two of them moved on without a word, to the North.

"Why the hell are _you..."_ Boone started, wrapping a hand around his rifle strap.

"Why do I exist?" Charlotte asked, filling in his words. Boone nodded, barely noticeable in the dark. "Charlie needs protection. I ain't around all the time, and she's a mess―the wind could knock her down most days."

"Protection," he mused.

"Look, there's more to the story, but you gotta assume for now that Charlie _isn't_ a threat."

Boone snorted and laughed at the same time. "No," he agreed.

"Can I count on you to stick around, watch her ass? I'll pay you, if you want. Make it even." Charlotte stared him down, trying to gauge his reaction.

"No," he said, quietly. "Don't need caps. We're already even." He moved forward, ahead of her, scanning the distance.

"Is going to Vegas gonna be a problem?" Charlotte asked, putting her hands on her hips. "Because if it is, you can go do― _whatever_ it is you planned to do―"

Boone stopped walking for a moment. Glanced back at her, shrugged, and crossed his arms over his chest. "I think I can trust you," he said, slowly, staring at her.

"I need more than a thought," she said, sighing. "I need some promises. Look, I mean it, I'll take out all the Legionaries you want, after I get Charlie to Vegas. I'll hold that bastard Caesar and you can jam a knife so _far into his fucking skull it'll replace his_ _tongue."_ She lowered her hands and clenched them into fists, at her side.

Boone's mouth twitched and he breathed out a chuckle. "You promise?"

Charlotte nodded. "Of course."

"Then I'll watch Charlie's back."

"Thank you, Boone," she answered. "I gotta let Charlie... _come back,_ now. This shit is draining."

"You do what you gotta do," he muttered, turning his head to stare out at the wastes.

Charlotte nodded. "Thank you, Boone," she repeated.

She gave up control to Charlie, again.


	10. Keep Climbing

Charlie was sitting just outside of Freeside, nervously picking the petals off of a broc flower and trying to work up her gumption to go into the place. She could see the Kings gang members, milling around the outside of the gate. The sun beat down on the asphalt, making her sweat just a little too much.

Boone coughed, kicking up dust as he turned to face her. She knew he was watching her again. Why he hadn't turned her over the NCR at Nelson―given her up to the soldiers, after she told him she was a criminal―she didn't know. It probably wouldn't make her feel _better_ to know, and she couldn't bring herself to drag the subject into the light, but something didn't sit right with her about it.

If he was waiting for her to acknowledge that she couldn't―that she'd forgotten what happened after she'd told him about the NCRCF breakout―well, she didn't know if she could do that, either.

She shuddered to herself again. The metal armor she was wearing was hot as hell, catching the bright rays of the midday sun and burning her fingers when she touched it, but she was cold inside. She'd told Boone the truth. That was important. And he'd... not gone away, but stayed on, and she hadn't a clue as to why.

Supposed beggars oughtn't be choosers. Maybe after she'd blanked out... she'd told Boone something to help him understand? _Maybe._

Whatever it was, he wasn't talking and she wasn't asking. Charlie dropped the flower to the ground, stood up slowly, and breathed out.

"I guess we should go in there," she said, dully. One step closer to finishing her delivery―one step closer to remembering who she was. That thought was frightening on its own, but she was so _tired_ of being scared...

Boone turned himself back to the gate and cleared his throat. "What's the plan," he asked, tonelessly.

"Um..." She tried not to be nervous, the dread lying in the bottom of her stomach like a brick. Her legs wouldn't move, even though she was willing them to walk. "I was supposed to deliver to someone in North Vegas," she said, slowly. "But that's not an option, anymore."

Boone nodded, watching her carefully. He'd been doing a lot of that, too, and she wasn't sure what to make of it. His eyes cut into her like a knife.

"I guess all I can do is get onto the Strip and see what happens," she said, sorely. "The man who shot me... he's supposed to be here."

"How'd you know he was from Vegas, anyway," Boone asked, quietly.

She didn't remember telling Boone that the checker-suited man was from Vegas. Had she? It was all very confusing to her. But... now that she really thought about it, that flashy suit and the gold gun, the way he'd talked... he _had_ to be from the Strip. There weren't that many showy people in the Mojave―and it got you killed a _lot_ faster if you were highly visible―

"Someone in Goodsprings told me," she said. Chet had, but she'd buried it under his attitude and the excitement of dealing with the Powder Gangers and her own memories. Said the guy was a Vegas-type, a city boy, flashy with his pretty golden gun.

Charlie _knew_ she'd been up on the Strip at one point. She remembered the lights, the action, that fountain outside of the Ultra-Luxe. Maybe she only remembered because she'd lived in Vault 21... or maybe she'd been back in the five years Doc Mitchell said she was missing from Goodsprings―

Her chest wrenched again. That hurt was never going away. She and Boone had the pain in common, at least. Maybe that was why he stayed on; maybe she'd told him about her mom―

She let out the breath she'd been holding and tried to focus. Didn't need to go off into memories, had to deal with... this. Like Jason Bright said, business first.

"Huh," Boone said. "Wonder what he wanted to kill you for, then."

"He stole the package I was delivering," she answered. "I don't know why. Talked about a game being rigged."

Boone shot her a critical glance. _"Sounds_ like Vegas," he said, shaking his head.

"I thought so, too," she said, sighing. "No clue as to why it's so important."

She listened to the low hum of Vegas for a moment longer, trying to imagine what could be so important about a platinum chip that it required her to die. Damn wasteland, she thought. Could've been anything, really. Maybe the guy didn't like the way she wore her hat, or something.

Or maybe it was something really stupid, like money. Money got her into too much trouble, anymore. Once she was done with this...

God, she was _tired._ She just wanted to go home.

"Okay," she said, trying to gather her wits about her. "Let's go... let's get in there."

Just wanted to go back to Goodsprings and try to make things _better._

* * *

They walked through Freeside, neither one saying a word. The bright lights, the ramshackle gate, everything, she remembered it pretty clearly compared to other memories.

She had been back to Vegas. Because of the courier job. That made her breathe out in relief, thinking about it. Nothing in Vegas had ties for her anymore, only the job that she'd taken on. She would have come here if the suit hadn't shot her, to make her delivery.

She wondered what Boone made of the whole business. Was tempted to ask, but he wasn't from the city. Not that she could tell. Maybe he wasn't even from the Mojave, maybe he'd settled down like Manny said after coming to the desert with the army.

He still intimidated the hell out of her. But... he wasn't as angry as he had been. Almost acted like he felt sorry for her, now. She wasn't sure if that was better or _worse._

Didn't really want him feeling sorry for her. She had it bad enough without some pity being laid on top of everything _else._

 _Keep climbing, Charlie―_

Freeside hadn't changed. She remembered the Mormon Fort―made a mental note to come back through. The Followers, from what she now reliably remembered, helped a wide variety of people. Might be able to figure out what was going on in her head.

Kept her feet moving toward the Strip, kept her eyes forward. Watched the shifty thugs that hid in the dark corners near the Wrangler, gave them her best angry look when they dared to step a foot into the light.

No one was messing with her, _today._ Today she was determined to do better.

"Do you have caps," Boone was asking, as they approached the Strip gate.

Charlie slowed to a stop, looking back at him. She'd forgotten about that; the credit check required to get onto the Strip. But―

"I have a passport," she said, more confidently than she felt. It had been a part of the agreement with House, when he filled in the Vault. A long disused memory stirred and reminded her that all residents of Vault 21 had been issued passports, to allow them back onto the Strip. Because of... Sarah, Charlie remembered the blonde woman and her cheerful nature.

Hadn't been very familiar with the woman, or with her brother. But Charlie remembered Sarah's happy attitude and how she'd always made friendly jabs at... at her dad. Yeah, she remembered. To have that concrete thought in her mind wasn't as comforting as she'd hoped it would be, but at least it answered one question.

Charlie remembered the Vault. Knew she was Doc Mitchell's daughter, now. There was no other option.

She pushed the thoughts from her mind. "It's okay," she told herself. _Almost there._ After this, there would be time to think about all the other things, and sort out what needed done. Like Jason Bright had said, she would get herself back once she had the time to sit down and think.

Boone didn't say a word. Charlie started walking again. Marched herself up to the gate and moved right through it after presenting her passport to the Securitrons. _Keep climbing,_ she thought.

 _Just keep climbing._

* * *

Once on the other side, the memories flooded through. Her knees went weak for a brief moment as she stared up at the lights flashing in front of her.

Still... couldn't put all of it, together. But she was _definitely_ Charlotte Mitchell. And she had such a high price to pay for her sins, that ladder felt like it stretched all the way to Jason Bright's Great Beyond.

The shuffling of feet around her jostled her, away from the memories of running about the Vault corridors and back into the shock of the wide open world. That first step out of the Vault and onto the Strip, the first step out of Freeside and their feet on the road toward what was promised―California―where life would be _different,_ where they could live without anyone stealing their home from them, again―

Charlie took a deep breath, and gagged. Forgot the smell of the place. The stink of the neon lights that burned so brightly in the wastes, the stale smell of booze and people that milled around. The fire that burned day and night at the Gomorrah, the wafting stench of cooking meat from the Ultra-Luxe, the occasional hint of the dry earth blowing in from the desert.

City life smelled so different from the empty smells of the wastes. Even the Vault smelled different than the Strip. It was jarring, what the smell _alone_ brought to her mind.

She grabbed her rifle strap as if she was going to fall off the face of the earth and stared about her for a long time, trying to will herself to move. For a moment she was the only person in the world, everything that moved around her taking on a blur, her feet barely connected to the cracked concrete under them.

Then the sound of a mechanized wheel caught her attention and she found herself staring down a Securitron with a cowboy face, blinking in surprise as it started talking to her.

"Howdy, pardner! Didn't think you were gonna make it!"

Charlie nodded to Victor. She knew him. He'd helped her, before. Owed him her life, for digging her out of that grave in Goodsprings. He'd been puttering around that place for a while, from what she'd been told.

Why he was on the Strip... she couldn't begin to guess. Felt too tired to think about _why._ "Hey," she said, weakly. "What's up, Victor?"

Victor's face flickered for a scant moment, then he launched into a speech about something she could barely pay attention to. Something about the Lucky 38―about her job, the delivery, about―

 _Mr. House._

Charlie's mind sharpened like a knife across a whetstone. She focused herself onto Victor. He was inviting her to _speak_ with House. No one had spoken with House― _inside of his own casino_ ―ever. Not even when Sarah won the right to turn the Vault into a hotel. Everything had been done through his robots―

And she was being asked to meet him _in person?_ Because of her delivery―the _chip._ _What―?_

Charlie's eyes went wide. Her delivery was to House, the proprietor of the Strip? And it was just dumb _luck_ that she was from Vault 21? She couldn't believe that. It felt―it felt too _contrived._

The Strip was where she was born, where she'd come from. She might have been a small player in the scheme of things, and spent her formative years out in the wastes―working as a courier, even―but she remembered how people _were,_ on the Strip.

Everyone out to get something for themselves, manipulating and thieving. _No one_ in Vegas looked out for each other unless they belonged to one of the Families. Even the people in the Vault hadn't really stuck with each other after it was filled in, preferring to go their own ways and get _away_ from the place.

If House wanted to speak to her―on a _personal_ level, even―

Something big was going on. Something she didn't know if she was confident enough to be a part of.

But if memory about past events served correct, she really didn't have a _choice._

Charlie sighed, painfully, and told Victor she was on her way.


	11. Bad Karma Club

Note: *frantically scrambles to figure out the plot*

I'm working on the next chapter, honest. Scout's honor. 

* * *

"Come over and introduce yourself."

She'd had about three minutes to prepare herself for the conversation. Through the entrance of the casino, her dazed walk across the floor, plus the ride up the elevator, she'd tried to imagine what would happen when she was face-to-face with House. Had already thought to herself that, no matter how many questions she had, she wasn't going to be in control of the meeting.

 _Because_ it was House. And she had absolutely no idea what the man could want from her, much less what she would be expected to say.

One didn't tangle with House without being led. Even the gamble that Sarah had brokered to keep the Vault had been a calculated manipulation. House did everything he did, on his own terms.

That was the reason Doc Mitchell had aimed his family for California, to get away from the specific brand of control House wanted. She remembered her dad talking about the injustice, when she was younger. They left because House made them, and he couldn't be convinced otherwise.

If you thought you won the bet fair and square―well, you were being led to believe that. _House always won._ And no matter how tired Charlie was, of everything being out of her control―this wasn't going to be any different.

If she went along with what was happening... maybe it would be better. Better than trying to fight like she had been, for the last few days, trying to figure out who she was. Maybe her life would have been ten times better if her father _hadn't_ fled the Strip with his family, or maybe she would be dead.

She certainly wouldn't have run off with a stupid gang boy and made a damn fool of herself, or fucked her life up so terribly, if House hadn't forced her family out of Vegas.

Charlie exited the elevator and moved down the stairs toward the voice, confused at first as to who was talking. Once she figured out what was going on, she was actually relieved.

The man the Strip called Not-At-Home was either a computer of some kind, or he was hiding his physical self behind a wall of Securitrons and monitors so he wouldn't get hurt. Either way, she wasn't as impressed as she'd expected she would be. That was relieving. _He_ was worried.

She _was_ nervous, though. No lie, the thought of being summoned to talk to House, when no one else in the world had―and the deal with the chip, whatever that was―it was enough to put her right back to the same quivering mess she'd been when she woke up in Goodsprings.

Charlie approached the main monitor with a sick feeling in her stomach, but refused to let it show.

"You, of course, know who _I_ am. And I, naturally, know who _you_ are. But before we get too heavily involved in business... what do you make of your surroundings? Has Vegas changed, since your last visit?"

She stared at the perfect face on the screen for a moment before her eyes were drawn to the penthouse windows, glancing out over the midday sight of the Strip. "I'm not sure if I really remember," she said, nervously.

"Come now, you can tell me. Candidly, even. What do you make of what you've seen?"

"...It's different," she strained out. Whatever he wanted her to say―she couldn't pretend she'd never seen the Strip before. Maybe he'd gone cuckoo, locked up in this tower, maybe his circuits were wonky. It wouldn't surprise her, either way.

"Come now―don't play the fool. Vegas has fools enough, a superfluity of them. You see that you and I are of a different stripe, don't you?"

"Why the VIP treatment, Mr. House?" she asked, cautiously. If he had gone crazy, she might not be able to get out alive. She eyed one of the many robots wandering through the penthouse. Even her grenade rifle wouldn't do much damage to a Securitron. That was why House has so _many,_ she guessed.

"Don't be coy. You've been playing a high-stakes game ever since Victor dug you out of the ground. Don't be afraid to admit it."

"Can we get down to business?" she asked, trying to divert his attention.

"Oh, by all means―yes. That's refreshing." The monitor flickered briefly. "The business is this. One of my employees has stolen an item of extraordinary value from me, and I want it recovered. I assume you are aware of what has transpired, at this point?"

"I'm aware of the important bits... I think," she said, glancing around at the room again.

There was a drawn-out silence, then a sigh from the monitor. "Very well," House said. "I'll make this easy for you. To achieve my aims, I require a capable human agent to perform certain... _tasks._ I knew Benny was ambitious, even ruthless. Obviously, I miscalculated his drive for supremacy. But in any case, you've come along―a _more_ -than-suitable replacement."

"Benny." Charlie sighed. "The guy who shot me, and took the chip."

"But of course. I have to think that he found out about the Platinum Chip and mistakenly convinced himself that he could use it to his own ends." House sounded perturbed by the thought, but blathered on without pausing. "He resides in the Tops casino. It won't be easy. Benny is always surrounded by at least four bodyguards―except when he's in his private suite on the 13th floor of the Tops."

"Should I... kill him?" she asked. Kind of seemed up in the air, at this point.

"Look for a man named Swank, Benny's second-in-command. He's always been a reliable, if unimaginative, employee. Do your best to convince him that you're working under my auspices. If you have evidence of Benny's crimes, show it to him." House's voice trailed off, as if he expected her to infer her own meaning from the suggestion. "I trust that you can manage this?"

"I'll return when I have the chip," Charlie said, staring at the dials and knobs underneath the monitor. Didn't know what else to say.

"Until then," House agreed, and the screen went dark.

* * *

Charlie left the Lucky 38 with a funny look on her face and no clear idea what the hell had just happened.

"How'd that go?" Boone asked, standing up straighter. He'd been leaning against the wall outside of the Lucky 38, waiting for her.

"Well..." she said, unsure. "I guess you could say it tied everything up pretty _neatly."_

His eyebrow cocked up above his sunglasses, gracing the bottom of his beret, but otherwise Boone made no response. Charlie rubbed her forehead where she'd been shot by Benny.

Jason Bright had been _right._ About her being destined for something greater. She found that almost as unnerving as what had just happened between her and the _de facto_ ruler of Vegas.

And the weirdest part was... even though she had all these memory problems, and she couldn't make head nor tails of herself, this whole part of the job was perfectly _clear._ She remembered New Vegas better than what had happened out in the wastes. She knew what she had to do―even if she'd been _told_ what to do―and though getting the chip back was probably going to be difficult, she didn't feel paranoid or worried that she _couldn't_ follow through.

 _"You will find the view as breathtaking as it is awe-inspiring,"_ Jason Bright had said.

She supposed she couldn't start any lower on the ladder than she had. This... bit with House, was like she'd been thrust up about fifteen rungs. And everything looked a damn sight better than it had before.

She ought to have put more faith in Bright's words. Wouldn't have spent the last few days being so... mopey. The confidence boost she suddenly felt, emboldened her to talk like she wasn't a nervous wreck. It was―

She didn't know _what_ to think.

Boone was still watching her, his eyebrow slowly lowering.

"Need to get into the Tops," she said, walking down the steps of the Lucky 38 toward the street. Her gaze landed on the merchant who hung out in front of the Gomorrah. She knew he sold under the counter merchandise, sneaky stuff for getting a weapon past casino security. It hadn't ever been an issue for her, offhand... but the guy was the best-known secret up on the Strip.

Boone was about to say something when a NCR trooper barreled into Charlie, running flat-out up to her and not stopping in time. He apologized quickly, pressed a piece of paper into her hand, and turned away, calling out to her. "Message from Ambassador Crocker, ma'am!"

Charlie blinked, looked down at the message, watched him heading back down the Strip. "The hell?" she asked, confused.

"What's that about?" Boone was asking, as she opened the paper.

"An invitation to see someone called Crocker." Charlie blinked at it. "And―" Her jaw dropped. She stared at the paper for altogether too long, trying to comprehend.

 _"Allow me to reassure you that if you have committed any crimes or misdemeanors against the republic, it is in my power to pardon misconduct of this sort..."_

Was it... for _real?_ It seemed _too good to be true―_

After a moment of her catching bloatflies with her mouth, Boone reached out and plucked the paper from her hands. Charlie protested but he waved her off with one hand, looking over the paper without expression. "Hey," she complained, reaching out for the message.

Boone's eyebrows shot up, surprised at the content. _"Neatly,"_ he said, lowering his hand and offering it back to her. He turned himself away from her and stared up at the Lucky 38. "That's what you said."

"I sure as hell didn't think―" she said, nervously.

"A little _too_ neat," he muttered, and she saw his eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses.

Charlie's hand tightened on the paper, staring at him. She glanced at it once, then shoved it into her pocket. "I―I _won't―"_

Boone shot her a glance, an angry one. "Don't be stupid."

She shut her mouth quickly, and swallowed hard. "I'm _not_ stupid," she mumbled, looking down. "It's just―it's not _right._ I'm not... _like_ that."

"Whatever," Boone said, staring at her. "Would be stupid _not_ to take advantage."

"I―" she closed her eyes in shame. "I'm still a _criminal,_ though."

"Yeah," he agreed, and she felt a pang of fear in her chest. Couldn't stop the feeling.

Even if this pardon of what she might have done―even if it made her legally without fear of being _caught,_ she'd still done the crime. Still had to atone for the sin. Still―

 _God,_ those Powder Gangers were still running amok at the NCRCF, and there was still―still Cooke and the others she'd taken north, still had to do something about _that―_

She was so _stupid._ Should just let the Ambassador wipe her slate clean like Doc Mitchell tried to, and run off like a proper criminal. She wasn't going to, though. Mostly because...

She was _a_ _stupid crook._ The dumb ones caught themselves, they always did.

Charlie sighed, and opened her eyes. "Pretty sure I have brain damage," she muttered. "...I hope you have a back-up plan for when I die."

"Pretty sure _my_ plan's the same as yours," he muttered right back.

The stress finally caught up to her, then, and she sputtered out a laugh. How ridiculous it all was. How utterly and completely baffling for her to have done so many horrible things, and pay for it with a bullet to the forehead―and come out of the fray smelling like _a cool breeze off of Lake Mead._ She'd done what no other person had ever done―been invited into the Lucky 38, got a full pardon of her crimes, and survived what rightfully should have ended her _very_ short life.

"Guess this means I'm an _official_ member of your bad karma club," she told Boone, covering her face and trying to hide her tears with the hysterical laughter.


	12. Dues

_Bad karma club._ It was a ridiculous idea, but he appreciated it.

Charlotte seemed to think it was the only way to keep herself alive, forming this three-person parade across the wasteland floor. To keep Charlie moving forward, to keep herself from disappearing into the woman's head forever, to get things done.

The outcome of it all was this new intrigue in Vegas, a development that made him not only angry but sick to his stomach. He shouldn't have come back to Vegas. Vegas always found a way to screw with you. Always found a way to make you buy back in, to believe in another man's dream.

He ought to have left her in the mountains when she told him about the NCRCF breakout. That would have been the _smart_ thing to do.

But he was just another idiot in the wastes, wandering around with nothing to do but make a mess of things. Just like Charlie. Causing disaster was what the two of them had in common, when he thought about it.

Hell, maybe he ought to start taking _dues._

Aside from Charlotte, Charlie was useless and she knew it. But she kept going, because... like him, she didn't have anything else to do. And... the note, the pardon, everything, meant she could keep going just a little while longer.

This horseshit with Ambassador Crocker and whatever reason Charlie had to go into the Lucky 38―it didn't make much sense to him, at all. He was willing to bet Charlotte could figure it out, though. She seemed pretty sharp.

He missed the other personality, right now. He liked her better than the babbling mess that was currently melting into the steps of the Lucky 38. Charlotte would accept the pardon without the shame that Charlie felt, and go get things done. Not lose her shit in public and embarrass the hell out of herself.

Charlotte would get _angry,_ not upset. Boone stared down at Charlie's head. She was right about Charlie being unreliable. He wondered if the bullet to the head caused it, made her split like that. Wondered how to make the wishy-washy one go away, how to trigger Charlotte. Might be useful information to know.

At this point, he was unsure as to why Charlotte didn't take over the show. Charlotte said she wasn't going to let Charlie die. At the rate things were going, with House and the NCR―

Charlie _was_ going to get herself killed, that was for damn sure.

Boone didn't have the same sort of "guardian angel" watching out for him, like she did, but _he_ wasn't going to let himself die because of Vegas politics. Still had shit to do. Doing this―watching Charlie's back― _wasn't_ killing Legionaries. Not doing what he wanted only prolonged what was coming for him. Just made him suffer longer, just let karma have more chances at taking him down.

If he stuck around with Charlie, that karma was gonna come down on her. She'd earned enough, he was sure, to deserve it. Just like him.

Maybe that made it more sporting. He couldn't think of a _better_ explanation.

Something important was going on between the bigwigs in New Vegas, and Charlie was stuck right in the middle of it all. By extension of Charlotte's promise to him―he was stuck in this shit, too.

He sure as hell didn't trust Charlie―or Charlotte, for that matter, even if he'd said so―but she _had_ made a promise, and he still believed in promises. Just like the karma he'd brought on himself, it was all he had left _to_ believe in.

Promises weren't about trusting someone. Promises were goals one set for oneself. Karma would sort that shit out, if someone broke their promise. Always did.

Part of him wanted to ignore any promises made by the woman and go off on his own. She had a lot more problems than she let on. She was a lot more trouble than he'd wanted. Would be simpler to be on his own. _Especially_ with this new development on the Strip.

But―

Bad karma had taken what he'd had, made his life shit. And it wasn't done yet. Traveling with someone who'd earned their own bad karma felt more like camaraderie than any he'd known in the last six months, let alone the last six _years._

He'd never considered himself all that curious about what went on in other people's heads. Wasn't particularly interested in making new friends, either. The last friend he'd had―the last _trust_ he'd placed―he'd never trust someone like he'd trusted Manny, again. _Ever._

He did intend to keep his promise to Charlotte, though. Didn't like the thought that he might fail again.

He _never_ failed.

* * *

Charlie scraped herself from the pavement and hiked herself down to the Tops, like she'd said. Boone didn't even bother trying to pay attention. He doubted the casino assholes were going to be much trouble.

Her flip-flopping got her into a mess at the Tops, though. After hemming and hawing with a man in a checkered suit and agreeing to meet the man in the VIP suite, she got double-crossed. He could have told her that was gonna happen, but he wasn't hanging out with her because he was the smart one.

The longer he stuck around, the more _that_ became painfully obvious.

"Sorry doll, but I can't come in there," the intercom crackled. Boone studied the peeling walls and did his best to keep himself from being bored.

Charlie started crying again. Started up about how unfair it was. Boone chuckled to himself. She really _was_ as dumb as all get out. He stared at the wall and ignored the two, thinking. Tried to get his head back in the game, to find that hate he'd learned to live off of.

His thoughts shifted. _...Carla._ Carla lived in Vegas, before they got married. He'd come up to the Strip every chance he got, carefully saved up his caps so her could see her. Was grateful he'd taken the opportunity to join First Recon, then. Everything that he wanted to do, was easier with that extra money.

Meeting Carla, spending time with her―it made the bad shit disappear. Wanted to tell her about... what happened, but never could. Wasn't a lie if she didn't know. Was just a secret. He didn't like keeping secrets, but he couldn't bring himself to admit to her―

Boone remembered long days in the motel in Novac, holed up in the room with her. Her sitting on the bed, singing along with the radio. Making him lie down with her and talking to him about anything and everything she could think of. Him falling asleep to her voice, soft and happy in the dust-filled room, feeling like the world gave him a second chance.

He'd never deserved that. Didn't know why he'd thought that life could get better. Shouldn't have brought her into it, she was too good for him and his fucking karma―everything he'd done―

Boone blinked in the darkness of the suite and turned his head to look at Charlie. She was talking to him. He hadn't heard what she said.

"We're leaving," she repeated, wiping her face. "I have to go―have to―"

 _Yeah, whatever._

* * *

Just outside of the Tops, a man stopped Charlie. Boone was staring across the street at the monorail station, thinking about the past again, when a high-pitched growl and snapping sound caught his attention.

Turned back to Charlie, who had her machete out and was steadily pressing it into the neck of the man. She'd pinned him against the wall, digging the blade of the machete into the underside of his chin and collarbone, her knee smashed into the man's groin and grinding.

Boone's eyebrow shot up. Pulled his rifle and aimed it, but didn't make any motion to fire. Wasn't exactly sure was was going on―

"It's too bad you ain't got your _stupid coyote hat,"_ Charlotte hissed, scraping the machete across his bones. "I was looking forward to _burning_ it, _while you still had it **on!"**_

The man chuckled. "So you've said," he managed. His chin was pouring blood, the skin damn near flayed from the bone, but he didn't appear to feel the pain. "I never understood why _you_ didn't want to behave―"

Charlotte growled again, and pressed harder on his neck, breaking the skin of his throat. _"Goddamn you!"_ she shrieked, her arms shaking from the effort. A quick motion from the man caught Boone's eye.

He moved a few steps to the left, toward the doors of the Tops, and saw the pistol in the man's hand. Whoever he was, he was prepared―had a small pistol pushed into her temple on the opposite side, and showed no signs of letting up.

Boone's finger tightened on the trigger. Charlotte didn't move, gritting her teeth in an angry grimace at the man.

"You still don't remember?" the man said, calmly. The front of his suit slowly turning red with blood, but he still showed no signs of distress. "You know the penalty for betrayal, Lottie."

"What the _fuck―"_ Charlotte shouted, shaking violently. _**"I** ain't―"_

"Remove your blade from my throat," the man said, threateningly. "You're making a scene." He jabbed her in the temple with the pistol, harder.

 _"Never,"_ Charlotte hissed. _"Fucking **Legion cocksuck―"**_

Boone pulled the trigger. Charlotte shrieked and jerked away from the man as the .308 tore into the man's skull, a round from the pistol skidding across the top of her head in response. She hit the ground in a dazed heap, dropping the machete and bleeding profusely onto the concrete, as the now-faceless body of the Legionary slumped against the wall.

Boone shouldered his rifle. Grabbed Charlotte's arm and half-walked, half-dragged her to the nearest bench, roughly pushing her down onto the seat. In another second, he had her head in his hands, looking through the thick black hair that graced her scalp at the gunshot wound.

"You'll live," he said, after a moment. The bullet hadn't done much other than tear through the skin, leaving a short track.

Charlotte swallowed hard and made a pitiful noise. "Goddammit," she said, weakly, her hands shaking. _"God―"_

"It barely broke the skin," he told her, pressing his palm against the bloody mess of hair and stemming the flow.

"Goddammit," she whispered, bringing her hands up to her head and grabbing his. _"I―"_

Boone stared at her for a moment, the shock and the pain evident in her eyes. Her fingers laced through his, sticky with warm blood, her brown eyes on his. He could feel her heartbeat through her scalp, hard and heavy.

He wasn't dazed. Moved his free hand down to his pocket and removed a stimpak, popping the cap and jabbing it into her shoulder without turning his eyes. "You'll live, Charlotte," he repeated, quietly.

She blinked furiously, her hand squeezing his on the top of her head. Her mouth bobbed up and down, and she took a deep breath. "...Thank you, Boone," she said, shakily. _"Thank you."_

Boone finally turned his eyes away from her, staring at the man's body. Other than what she'd said, the man appeared to be an ordinary gambler. He wasn't sure what had happened―or what was going on―but the world was one less Legionary.

Charlotte untangled her hand from his. He peeled his bloodied hand from her head, lowering it to his side, and shot her a glance. "What was that," he asked, quietly.

She shifted her weight on the bench, turning to look at the body. "I'll..." she swallowed again, and cleared her throat. "I'll tell you in a minute," she said, her voice a little hoarse. "We should get out of here."

He watched her walking away from the bench, his feet almost unwilling to follow.


	13. Upcard

Charlotte walked back to the Lucky 38 and motioned for him to join her, leading him up the elevator to a suite near the top of the casino. In the suite, she went into the bathroom and he heard the sound of running water. He waited in the kitchen area for a time before she reappeared, bereft of the metal pieces of her armor.

She was a lot more frail than he'd noticed. Without the bulkier bits of the armor, Charlotte was about as thin as a fence post. She slumped into a chair at the table and leaned back, staring at the ceiling for a moment. He watched her silently, taking in the scars and her expression.

Getting shot in the head again had upset even the hard personality. Maybe she was remembering what it felt like the first time, or maybe she was just shocked that it happened again. He couldn't say; he'd never taken any serious injury in the line of duty.

One of the benefits of being First Recon. _The last thing you never see._

"Thank you," she said, slowly. Turned her gaze onto his, dark circles forming under her eyes. "That... could have gone worse."

"Yeah," he agreed.

"And..." He watched her throat bobbing as she swallowed. "Well, I know I owe you an explanation."

Boone shifted his weight to lean against the counter. Waited for her to speak. She stared into the room without saying a word for such a long time, he started getting annoyed.

Never had a problem, before. Telling him about her crimes. Didn't know why she'd have trouble now. Wanted her to get the air cleared before he decided he'd had enough and walked away.

Wanted to know if she was gonna keep that fucking promise, too. Now that she'd dealt with Vegas and her delivery.

"You remember..." Charlotte finally said, running her hand up to the newly forming scar across the top of her head, "when I told you about Charlie's past."

Boone nodded. He remembered. Still wasn't satisfied with what had been said. But he was patient. All he was waiting for, was a chance to get himself killed. He had all the time in the world.

She kept her gaze on him for a while, her face flushed and the pink scar on her forehead sticking out under a frame of black hair. "I didn't expect that goddamn delivery to be this much trouble," she muttered. "I was _asleep_ for too long." She lowered her gaze to her hand again.

The room was uncomfortably silent for a long time. He stared at her, trying not to think about anything at all. Tried not to think about what hell he'd managed to get himself involved with, and how fucking convoluted it was turning out to be.

Charlotte yawned, loudly. "Damn," she muttered. "Alright, Boone. Ask, and I'll answer any question you got."

"No," he said, crossing his arms and looking out over her head. "I don't think so."

"You killed Vulpes Inculta," Charlotte pointed out. "I _owe_ you."

He moved his eyes back down to hers, looking up at him with a tired but appreciative smile. "Why," he wondered. "Why would you owe me."

"That cocksucker was mine to kill," she said, flexing her hand and smacking the table. "He... made my life a _living hell."_ She looked uncomfortable, staring into the air with a disgusted and sad look on her face. "Promised myself I'd kill him, and you went and did it for me."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Then keep your promise," he snapped, grumpily.

Didn't want to think about what she meant. If she'd been around Legionaries, then... _must have been a slave._ He knew how those bastards treated women―

Charlotte nodded and lifted her hand from the table again. "Okay. Gotta get that goddamn chip back, anyway." She cringed a little, and rubbed her scalp where she'd been shot. "Benny took it, and... well, I'm pretty sure he went east. Ain't gonna be easy to track him down."

"Nothing's ever easy," he muttered, under his breath. Memories started rising to the surface again―his punishment for everything he'd done. _Living hell._ It was appropriate.

"Let's spend the night here, and head out at first light." She moved to stand up and paused as she was leaning over the table, looking at the wood with a stricken face. "When Charlie shows back up..." she said, slowly. "She's gonna be upset that she got hurt, again."

All he could think about was how he'd followed the Legionaries to the river. Watched them putting Carla up for auction. Thought he could still save her, up to that point―thought he could catch up in time to whisk her away from those fuckers―save the day, make everything better―

It felt like it would never end. His hands were on the rifle trigger, again. He felt his hands shaking, steadied himself―calculated the distance, the wind, the enemy below him―remembered _her face._

"If you tell her that she was shot by a Legionary..." Charlotte was saying.

He felt himself nod, a swift jerk up and down. Wasn't sure what he was actually seeing; in his mind all he could remember was the look on Carla's _face_ before he pulled the trigger, and the red explosion of her skull when he put a round through it―

He'd seen the look on _Charlotte's_ face, before. It only made it harder to control his anger. Not that he wanted to, anymore. He was fucking _done_ with being reasonable.

Didn't matter, anymore. He intended to spill as much Legion blood as he could, and it didn't matter because he _wanted_ to walk into that fire. Karma brought him this far. It was _going_ to finish the job.

"When we get in there," she was talking, her voice growing angry. He barely listened, lost in his own head. "Find Benny, get that goddamn chip back―just shoot him in the fucking head, instead of pansying about like Charlie did."

Boone's lungs started to burn again. He breathed out carefully, through his nose. Let his mind accept the information without thinking about it. Couldn't begin to start processing what she was saying.

...But for his bullet, what she'd gone through might have been the same as―

He didn't want to think about that. A red haze settled over his eyes.

Charlotte's breath caught in her throat, then she slammed her hand onto the tabletop roughly. "Goddammit, Vulpes _had_ to know about that fucking chip―"

She pushed herself up to a stand, breathing a little harder. She looked up at Boone with a wild expression. "They set up this whole fucking thing so they could take Vegas!" she said, angrily. "If Benny hadn't _shot_ me―"

Charlotte growled, curling her hands into fists as he stared off into memory. "Thos―" she said, punching the table hard. "―We gotta―gotta take them out! They―" She growled again, louder, and drew back her hand.

He jerked back into the present. She was having a whole conversation without him listening to her. Nothing new under the sun, there. He turned his head to look at her, and saw her face.

Met her gaze, saw the pain and hatred she kept there. Watched the memories rolling over her eyes, knew his were being reflected right back at her.

"Fine by me," was all he could manage.

* * *

In the morning, after what little sleep he'd gotten was aided by whiskey and sheer exhaustion, Boone checked his rifle and readied himself. She'd gone out at some point, returning with a large equipment bag. She shoved it onto the table in the kitchen.

She had a lot more money than she let on, or something else was going on. Pulled out three guns, laid them to the side, then started loading her own pack with 40mm grenades. After a moment, she nodded to the three and told him to check them. "If you want one," she stated, flatly.

He ignored the first two, focusing on the hunting rifle she'd placed down. Had a scope―and a few other mods―and was in better condition than his. He glanced up at her and frowned.

"How can you afford this," he wondered, briefly.

"I have ways," she said, shooting him a look that said not to press the matter.

Boone held the rifle up, sighting in a spot on the far wall. "Did you steal them?" he asked, roughly.

She snorted, angrily. _"Hell,_ no," Charlotte said. "I made a deal with someone called Dhatri down at the airport." She picked up the shotgun and cracked it.

He blinked and looked up at her, surprised. Hadn't expected to see Charlotte. Why was she still around? She avoided his questioning glance and continued inspecting the weapons.

Boone lifted the hunting rifle and followed suit. After looking into the breech and testing the bolt a few times, he lowered the rifle and stared at her. "What sort of deal."

"Going 'round the Vegas ruins and taking out some psychotic assholes," she said, closing her pack and putting it onto the floor. "Also visited that fella Crocker. We're set... for now." She looked up at him, finally.

Boone's eyebrows drew together. When had she had _time_ for―

"I don't sleep all that well," she told him, before he could ask her. "Heard you in there tossing and turning, too. Figured if I wasn't gonna be sleeping, I might as well do something productive."

If she hadn't slept at all, their trip wasn't going to be easy. Boone stared at her for a moment. Charlotte returned the stare, setting her jaw. "I'm fine," she said, defensively. "I just didn't want to fall asleep with a _damn head wound,_ alright?"

He jerked his head up and down, after a time. Made sense. "What's the plan, then," he breathed, his hands tightening on the rifle.

"I'll explain on the way," she said, putting the shotgun over her back.

* * *

Inside of the Vegas ruins, Boone was crouched behind the corner of a building and sighting in heads as Charlotte dashed back and forth. She drew the Fiends into the open and he picked them off, the only sound beyond their gunfire the crackling of a few fire-filled barrels and agonized shouts.

They'd already gone around and taken out the three Fiends in the outskirts; one with a hell of a lot of dogs and the other roaming around some kind of scrap fortress. The last one was holed up in an open building, and was relatively easy to kill even with the flamer he'd carried.

Charlotte had dragged his body out into the wasteland, chopped the head off with her machete, and dumped a whole bottle of turpentine on the rest. She'd watched it burning with a mad look in her eyes, almost gleefully.

If they hadn't had to clear out the Vault, he was sure she would have waited until the fire burned out. Remembered what she'd said to the Legionary on the Strip, about burning his "stupid coyote hat".

Charlotte was reloading when she started walking back to his corner. She brought the shotgun up, squinting, as she approached him. "Well, you were right," she muttered, glancing around the area one last time.

He shot her a questioning look. She shrugged one shoulder and waved a hand in front of her eyes. "I need glasses," she said, grumpily. "If you see any, let me know. This is getting ridiculous."

He nodded. "Yeah."

She waved him forward, walking toward the Vault entrance. "C'mon. Let's go deal with this horseshit."

Their feet crunched through the debris strewn about the ruins, heading for the building that contained the Vault door. She had a hard look on her face, her steps heavy and angry.

Yeah. He definitely liked _this_ one better.

Boone followed, without a word, as Charlotte led him into the Vault.


	14. Heart, Voice, Hand

She didn't want to admit it, but Charlotte was starting to get worried.

After... she'd been shot by Vulpes―that _fucking bastard,_ him trying to have the last say―she hadn't gone to sleep. She'd laid down in the bed at the Lucky 38 and actually slept for a few hours, but she hadn't―Charlie hadn't come _back,_ like she usually did. The only person in control was Charlotte, and Charlotte wasn't entirely sure why.

Whatever it was, it was worrying. Charlie was a goddamn scaredy-cat and damn near useless, but she should have been awake by now.

They were marching past the 188 Trading Post when she started worrying. The same place she'd had that conversation with him before, the dry lake bed with all the ants, loomed in the distance and reminded her of Charlie's admission to him.

Boone hadn't said a word about it, hadn't registered any response other than his surprised look at finding her still around. He minded his own business a little too well, really. She'd put herself out there for questions, but he'd refused to ask any. She couldn't figure out why, unless...

Maybe he _expected_ to die. Going to Cottonwood Cove hadn't been her plan―there were plenty of those assholes roaming the wastes, which meant plenty of opportunity for her to hold good to her promise―but if he was intent on getting himself killed, the Cove was about the best place to do it. He seemed pretty enthusiastic about going.

Well, as enthusiastic as he could seem, what with his deadpan expressions and lack of affect in his voice. The first actual concern she'd heard in his voice was... when she was in shock after she'd been shot in the head for a second time, on the Strip.

She couldn't come up with any reason why he would sound worried about her head wound. Other than, well, he wouldn't have anyone to kill Legionaries with, which was as good a reason as any. She'd not expected him to care after Charlie got to the Strip, either. It was...

The incident had raised a bit of esteem for him, in her mind. Respect earned. He'd reacted very professionally about it, coupled with the intense stare he'd given her. Charlie thought he was intimidating, and was afraid of him. Charlotte wondered why he was so cold.

Why he'd shut off all the emotion he must have felt, when―

She stared at the ground as they walked, heading further south. She remembered who was responsible, unlike Charlie. Boone was angry because his wife had been taken from him. Because she was dead. Boone seemed a little agitated, right now, but she guessed that was more his anger than anything else. He had good reason to be angry.

How he knew his wife was dead... Charlotte didn't bother to ask. _She_ knew how the Legion worked. Didn't care much to imagine what had happened to Carla.

But, unlike Charlie, Boone was running toward the danger that the Legion represented. He wanted to kill them all, because he was so angry, and he knew exactly the repercussions. He was military trained―as a sniper, and had been part of First Recon―so he was the perfect companion for going into the Cove, even if they were taking the _hard_ way.

Charlie'd run _away_ from the terror that the Cove brought. Charlotte refused to let them scare her. She was incapable of being _intimidated_ by those assholes, but that didn't mean she _wasn't_ afraid of them. Or afraid of dying.

A healthy amount of fear was necessary, she felt, in order to stay alive. Might not be a whole person, but there was value in living still.

Charlotte sighed to herself. She'd really been surprised that Charlie bothered to drag herself out of the hole she'd been in, after Goodsprings. Her strong suit was hiding from all that―like how she'd used _her_ to hide, when the Legion―

When the boy was waylaid by a group of Legionaries, out in the wastes. They were just two teenagers on the road, enjoying the night and the campfire, doing what all teenagers did when they had a chance, up until that point.

Charlotte rolled her eyes at Charlie's antics. For whatever reason she'd had, she'd liked him. Charlotte only remembered that he'd smooth-talked his way into her heart without a single qualm, and that he'd been stupid. Really, _really,_ fucking stupid.

He gave her to the fucking Legion to spare his own life. If he weren't already dead, Charlotte would hunt him down and _burn him_ _too._

She frowned at her feet, stumbling through the brush. Her hand moved up to her collarbone, gently touching the breastplate of the metal armor she wore. After he let them have her...

Ten months of physical and sexual abuse, culminating in―in scars that she would wear for a lifetime. Into memories that Charlotte wished hadn't been formed, but she couldn't run away from those like Charlie did.

Into the knowledge that she'd never be normal, ever again. Because of this goddamn _ridiculous_ game of Telephone she was playing with Charlie. Charlie was smarter than she let on, playing so everyone treated her gentle-like. Always had, even as a teenager. The bitch that Charlotte was, didn't bother to keep anything hidden.

She _couldn't_ hide. Her sole purpose was to be _there_ to take the hits. She was one fragment of the whole and she fucking hated it. Hated being unable to make proper decisions, hated the shit that kept her awake.

And there was their hand. The one who hadn't shown herself yet. That seemed a lot more worrying than wondering when Charlie would wake up.

Charlotte drew in a sharp and deep breath, turning her eyes back to the wasteland. They were approaching Novac again, where she'd intended to spend the night. Boone said nothing, following behind her with his gaze somewhere to the east.

God, she hoped that bitch would stay quiet. There was too much to do, too many people to kill, for her to have to fight for supremacy with that one.

Plus, Boone would probably shoot her in the head for what would be her _third_ time.

* * *

Charlotte let Boone walk off to his room when they'd reached Novac. Hied herself to the Ranger's room to say hello, see what he was doing. If this time was the same as last, he was still probably moping about and upset about his bum leg.

Charlie'd tried to make him feel better about that. He hadn't taken well to her consolation. _Time will tell, huh?_ Charlotte knocked on the door and waited for him to call out, then went inside.

"Hey, Andy," she said, waving as she entered.

"Hold on," he said, pulling himself up out of the bed. "There, now. Hello." He sized her up a little. "...Got a little off the top there," he added, when he'd drawn himself up to his full height and looked down at her. Pointed at her head, the new wound.

"Yeah, I... took another bullet to the skull. This one didn't go _through,_ at least." She put a hand on her hip and looked up at him, smiling sheepishly.

"Any more memory trouble?" he asked, moving to the desk.

"Here and there." Charlotte rubbed her arm, her smile fading. "Ain't much I can do about it."

"And did you find the person who shot you?" Andy asked, lowering himself into the chair at the desk, turning to look at her.

She settled herself on the edge of the bed closest to him, flattening her hands and putting them in between her knees. "Yeah," she answered, grumpily. "Pulled a trick, though. Ran off into the wastes. I'll find him again, don't you worry." One corner of her mouth hiked up into a devious smile.

 _And when I do..._ Hell, she didn't know what she was gonna do to that asshole. Didn't want to forgive him, but it really wasn't her decision to make.

If it weren't for Benny's interference in the plans―the chip wouldn't have ended up in Vegas. She knew that. Neither she nor Charlie had been in charge when the delivery was accepted, and the route she was taking could have easily deviated to the Cove rather than turn north. So she was... somewhat grateful that her delivery had been interrupted, but still―Benny _shot her in the damned head!_

"More confident now, than you were before," Andy noted. He tapped the desk with two fingers, giving her a hard look.

"...You'd be surprised what a few days can do for a body," she said, flushing a little. She'd hoped he wouldn't notice, but... supposed it was impossible. She and Charlie were two sides of one coin.

"Well," he stated, his eyes moving to the radio.

There was an awkward silence, as Charlotte tried to figure out how to ask what she'd come to see him about. Andy cleared his throat and shifted his weight. "You know, I check in with the guys up at the station pretty regular on the ham radio."

She nodded. "How are they doing?"

"They haven't been responding to me, last couple of days. I guess they got tired of hearing me talk, but it's still got me a little worried." He shook his head. "Hell, listen to me talk. Like some damn mother hen."

"Would you feel better if I checked on your friends for you?" Charlotte asked.

"Uh... no. No. They're gonna think I'm having trouble letting go. They're good soldiers. I don't give them enough credit." Andy looked ashamed of himself.

"I don't think they'd ignore you on purpose," she put in, but he was already pushing himself up from the chair.

"You've put up with enough of my babbling for today, I'm sure. I'll show you out," he grumbled.

Charlotte screwed her face up. "I didn't get to ask how you were, yet!" she protested.

" 'Bout the same as before," Andy said, sighing. "But I know you didn't come to see me just to catch up. What did you want?"

She looked down at her hands, flushing slightly. "Caught me out," she muttered.

"You're an open book," he said, looking down at her as he crossed his arms. Charlotte stood up, slowly, and turned to face him. "In Ranger school, they teach you how to spot a liar. You learn to pay attention."

"Yeah, okay," she said, a little sore. "I did wanna ask how you were, though." She looked away for a moment, then moved her gaze back. "What can you tell me about Boone's wife?"

Andy looked a little confused for a moment―he knew she'd taken Boone with her when she left Novac the last time―but he answered. "Carla was a knockout. Whenever Boone walked around with her, he always had this funny grin on his face like he couldn't believe his luck. I know _we_ couldn't." He sighed. "She didn't get on well with people here, but I don't think she meant all that she said. Was a sweet girl."

"Someone said she was a bitch," Charlotte said, putting it out there. That was what she'd heard, in the carefully worded description from Jeannie May.

"That girl never minced words. If she'd had better food or hospitality, she'd let you hear it. Trouble was, she usually had." Andy nodded at Charlotte. "I think she just wanted to remind herself that there are still nicer places in this world than Novac. Who could blame her for that?"

"Yeah," she replied, her voice going softer. "She was from Vegas, huh?"

"Far as I'd heard," he replied, then limped over to the door. "Now, if you don't mind... I'd like to finish my nap."

Charlotte agreed, moving to the door and waiting. Before Andy opened it all the way, he cleared his throat again and looked at her pointedly. "Hey, uh. I know what I said, but... if you find yourself by Ranger Station Charlie, let me know what you find. I'd be interested."

"No problem, Andy. Hopefully, next time we'll be a little less grumpy," she shot, and ducked out the door with a smile.

"Be careful out there, Charlie."


	15. Fair Play

Note: Big action scenes can take me a while to coordinate, so the next chapter might be delayed. (Like this one, sorry.)

* * *

The second day she woke up and she was still in control, Charlotte stopped worrying and focused on the important things. Keeping Charlie alive, and getting herself down to the Cove without her around to make things difficult. Finishing the job with House and dealing with the NCR. It was all pretty complicated, unless she let someone else take the lead.

The whole of it was pretty appropriate. Here she was, a fraction of a whole in one body. And she was letting another fraction of a whole like House take charge. But... at this point she was just grateful that she had the chance to finish her business with the Legion. _Cocksucking bastards!_

Charlie was right about House. Everything he did was on his own terms, and he always won. Charlotte knew enough about the game to understand that, unless one wanted to be 86'd, one played the game fairly. No card counting, no cheating. Let the House win, and hope you make it out with a little bit more money this time.

If the dealer busted, she would be happy. But she would settle for a _push._

Boone was still more or less acting himself, so when she suggested that they move the route to take them down the railroad tracks he didn't react. She plotted the course they'd have to take to get back to the road, after getting off of it, and sighed.

They'd have to go mountain climbing, after visiting the station. She wasn't as worried about the difficulty of climbing as she was the Vipers and Jackals that hid in them, and the scorpions that hid in the cracks in the rocks. Charlotte motioned for Boone to follow her.

"Was thinking," he said, suddenly, as they approached the ranger station.

Startled her a little. Charlotte turned and frowned at him, raising her eyebrow. "About?" she prompted, keeping her feet moving along the ties of the rails.

"Your guns," he said, gripping the strap of the rifle he'd picked out of her selection.

She stopped, finally, and turned to look at him. Held up 86 and stared at him. "What about them."

"I don't believe Major Dhatri gave you that many caps," he said, stopping himself and staring down at her.

She stared back at him, narrowing her eyes, then cracked a grin. She'd figured he'd ask about that again, especially since the conversation had been weird after he realized she was still around. And he was right. Dhatri hadn't budged about her request for more money.

Charlotte was more resourceful than the other personalities, though. "No," she chuckled. "He didn't. I'm from Vault 21, Boone."

He only raised an eyebrow. Charlotte lowered the rifle and turned, still grinning. "Growing up down there taught us all how to gamble _real_ good," she added. "Could get myself kicked out of any casino I want. Why d'you think she calls herself Charlie?"

He shrugged, following behind her as she kept moving. "Well, it ain't because her name's Charlotte," she told him. "You ever heard of a five card Charlie?"

"No," he said, his voice as quiet as it ever was. "...Is your name really Charlotte?"

She snorted. "Yeah, it is." She dropped her hands, holding the rifle with one hand, and ran a hand up over her scalp. "People called her Lottie, back then. But that ain't a name to hear said." She stepped off the rail and down toward the ranger station, staring up at the empty guard posts and frowning. "A five card Charlie is when you hit five cards in blackjack without busting. Pays out two to one."

Boone made a thoughtful noise behind her, but she wasn't paying attention anymore. There was nobody outside of the station; absolutely nothing going on in the little yard filled with buses. When Charlie had been here, before, the outside had at least one guard on duty.

She recalled that the one ranger mentioned that they were heading out on a mission; but there should be at least one ranger stationed outside. To not see _anyone_ ―it was unsettling. "Hold up," she told Boone, putting a hand out. "Something ain't right."

He glanced around, then pulled his rifle from his back. Charlotte moved around to the doorway of the station, looking around to see if maybe she was missing something, but there really was no one outside. She moved to the door and hesitated before she opened it.

When she'd seen Crocker, he'd asked her about the pardon. She'd admitted to responsibility of the NCRCF breakout, detailing a short amount of what had happened―

Charlotte sighed, and turned the knob. Didn't know how that pardon stuff worked, but hopefully he wouldn't go flapping his gums about the matter. Having a good reputation with the NCR would be better in the long run if she didn't have to face down _that,_ again.

She saw the first body right away, laid out in front of the entry, and groaned inwardly. Dammit―had hoped it was just these guys being mean to Andy. This was more... she glanced left and right, and took two steps into the building. She heard the distinctive beeping noise of a landmine, and immediately flung herself backward―

Her back hit something hard but soft, accompanied by a soft grunt. She shrieked out a swear as the mine exploded, taking out her legs with the concussive force and knocking her and whatever was behind her down.

 _"Goddammit!"_ she repeated, hands moving to pull herself upright, tangled up in―her ears were ringing, dust from the linoleum that had been blasted in her eyes. She blinked furiously, coughing and spitting out the residue.

She realized she'd been blown backward into and knocked down Boone as his hands came around behind her, shoving her off of himself. Charlotte got onto her hands and knees and―before she tried to get upright, she looked around, squinting through the dusty room.

"Don't move," she strained out, spotting another landmine. She tried to stand up, her hands shaking as she pushed up on a knee, pain shooting through her lower half. The light that fell through the open door showed her legs were bleeding, dripping onto the floor, though her armor had taken most of the brunt. She grimaced and forced herself upright, grunting in pain.

 _"Shit,"_ she hissed, stepping to the side toward another door way. "If I ever catch the bastard that did this..." Her hands clenched, moving slowly toward the second mine. It was a moment's work to disable it and put it into her pocket.

"What the hell went on here," she muttered, staring into the second room. Another body, a NCR ranger spread out over a littering of debris and personal effects. She glanced back to see Boone standing up in the entry, and sighed. "Might be more," she told him, her eyes searching the main room again.

He nodded, his eyes narrowed at the body in front of him. Charlotte limped back over to the other side of the room, looking around the desk that held the communications equipment. Once she was satisfied there were no more mines, she sank into the chair and groaned.

Boone made a noise to catch her attention, and she looked up at him to see him holding a stimpak. He tossed it to her, underhand, and she caught it. "Thanks," she said, applying the needle to her leg.

"Yeah," he said, turning to look into the bunk room. Charlotte opened the drawers of the desk, looking for anything that might be useful, while his back was turned. No need to let any ammunition go to waste... or to a scavenger who might happen by.

She found a holotape atop one of the boxes, holding it up and staring at it for a moment before opening the top of the Pip-Boy and playing it.

 _"This is a message to the NCR from the Legion."_ Charlotte sat straight up, sending a wave of pain through her legs and back. "We are coming for you. Run and we will catch you." Her face was frozen, wide eyes locked onto the Pip-Boy. "Hide and we will find you. No matter what you do you are all going to die."

Boone turned back and watched her, his face contorting in anger. She moved a hand to stop the audio log, but her fingers stilled as the last line played.

 _"We took one of the women alive."_

* * *

Charlotte punched the wall outside, _hard._ Hard enough to bruise her own knuckles, even though she was wearing the metal armor. The hand guard dented with the force of her slam, bending and pinching her skin through the gloves.

 _"Goddammit!"_ she shrieked, punching the wall again, leaving a divot in the crumbling stucco. _"_ ** _Goddammit!"_**

Boone was checking the breech on his rifle, sliding the bolt back and forth, then stalked away a few steps, aiming down the sights. After a moment, she heard a loud report from the railroad tracks, and laid her hands flat onto the wall, leaning onto it.

The fucking bastards, doing this―she thought Nipton was too far into the Mojave, but that was because _Vulpes_ had been there―

As far north as Nelson, and as far west as Nipton. They were _winning,_ goddammit―Legion was steadily taking the west side of the river, attempting to choke out the NCR on the Dam―trying to flank them, to secure the Dam and the area―

Searchlight was gone, she knew that. Had seen what remained. Didn't know what had happened, exactly, but the place was full of the dead, a lot of radiation, and a lot of ghouls down there. Burning the earth at the town had unintentionally stymied the Legion movement―but it also provided a sort of smokescreen for anyone who wanted to enter the Cove. NCR troops might march on the Cove, but they'd be forced to detour north or south―

 _Goddammit!_ Charlotte stared at the crumbling wall, her eyes jerking back and forth over the cracks. How―how could she expect to―

Had to get into the Fort. Had to, to find that chip, that was what Vulpes had said, and he _wasn't_ lying. That checker-suited asshole was gonna end up in Legion hands, maybe as his own way of trying to stay alive―knowing she was gonna find him and running off to a bigger, badder army―

But he was stupid. Damn stupid, if he thought going to the Legion or trying to make his way through the Cove was gonna end in any other way than him getting killed. If he was lucky, they wouldn't crucify his ass, even.

She smiled, grimly. As much anger as she heaped on that asshole, she wouldn't wish that kind of death sentence on anyone. Had seen too many slaves end up on the crosses that she knew lined the entrance to the Cove.

Charlotte pushed herself away from the wall, walking away from the station. "Boone!" she shouted, her voice deepening with emotion.

He was standing on the tracks, holding his rifle and working his jaw like he was trying to chew a piece of metal. Hard, just like her. Knew the ins and outs of how bad shit got, knew how to take down the bastards. Best companion you'd ever want for fighting those _motherfucking―_

They were only two people against one massive force. They _were_ gonna _die._

 _But fuck it._

"You think the NCR can win?" she asked him, her tone deadly.

He stared at her for a long moment, his face running a gamut of emotions. She stared back at him, hers a mask of anger and hate to cover the fear she knew she felt.

"God help us if they lose," he muttered, after a time.

"I doubt He's _gonna,"_ she said, angrily. "And I'm _done_ playing fair. We are gonna _pave that **highway**_ _with_ _Legion blood."_

Boone's face went slack. He started to grin, slowly.

 _"Let's go."_


	16. Say When

"Aww, look at this poor _bastard_ right here," Charlotte was saying. She was lying on her stomach in the sniper nest, her hands wrapped around a pair of binoculars as she stared down at the Cove. Boone was lying beside her, his rifle out and aimed at the milling Legionaries below.

Lying in the sniper nest hadn't been his idea, but Charlotte's―after passing by Searchlight to the north, she spotted the little shack on the outcropping. He remembered this place. Wasn't fighting the memories anymore. Even though he could still see _her_ face in his scope from the nest... Charlotte's running dialogue about how _fucked_ the Legion bastards down in the camp were, kept him from feeling the pain.

"Right there, that guy. Got that 'I just stepped in Brahmin shit' look on his face," she pointed the man out, grinning under the lenses. "He looks like he's having a _terrible_ day."

He couldn't help but chuckle at her. She'd gone straight from anger to a gleeful sort of enthusiasm, after finding Ranger Station Charlie destroyed by Legionaries. Everything she'd been before that, the anger and coldness, melted away. Because she had a better excuse for taking down the Cove, he'd thought.

She was being a lot more friendly, since the ranger station. Blamed himself for being helpful. Giving her that stimpak at the station and helping her at the Tops when that asshole shot her―

She'd started acting like they were _friends._ The thought didn't satisfy him.

The camaraderie he'd felt with Charlie was acceptable only because it meant they'd both _die._ Like two sides of a coin, him by Legion hands and her, probably, by the NCR. The... _team spirit_ that Charlotte brought to the table, was a good deal more optimistic. Boone almost wished Charlie was in charge, and not _her._ Felt wrong to let this happen like it was.

He needed that attitude of hers to keep him from losing his nerve, though. Being this close to the Cove―in the nest where he'd shot―

Boone forced himself to think about something else. Was easier than trying to hold that pain in his chest, than remembering how he'd failed.

He _never_ failed. Charlotte didn't, either. He guessed that was why she was so put out when Vulpes shot her on the Strip.

Boone shifted his weight, glancing at Charlotte from the corner of his eyes. She wasn't paying any attention to him at all, staring through the binoculars and talking under her breath about what she was going to do to all those bastards down in the camp.

He'd gone to the nest automatically, when they came to the lean-to. She'd laid herself down beside him, squeezing herself under the small canopy, close enough that their elbows were touching and he could feel her body heat. Christ, but she was warm. Felt like she might be running a fever.

Appropriate, though. He definitely liked her a lot more than Charlie. Now that he understood her better, now that she was keeping her promise to him. Charlie might have that bad karma club, but Charlotte crept up on you like a damn _disease._

Her enthusiasm for killing Legionaries was infectious. Was a sickness he _loved_ to suffer through. He knew _she_ did, too.

...He also liked that Charlotte was willing to work with the good guys. Going 'round and taking out targets for Major Dhatri. After working with the NCR at Nelson, too... he felt a lot better about sticking around for as long as he had. Hoped she was on the NCR's side and not just playing. The other one hadn't said anything about picking sides, only moped and whined.

"That asshole looks downright _miserable,"_ she said, clucking her tongue. Her grin widened and she lowered the binoculars, turning her head to him. "You wanna break the bad news to him?"

 _Exciting._ Paving highways and jamming knives into people's heads sounded like a hell of a way to go out. Travelling with her was turning out to be damn _exciting._

Boone grinned back, feeling the spiteful happiness that crept into him at the thought. In a way, he was relieved. Everything was going to end, very soon. But that was what he'd wanted, and now that it was time come he felt... happy. Was strange, to feel like that, after all that had happened.

Charlotte was happy to see this part come to a head, just like him. First things first, though...

He adjusted his elbows on the ground and tried to find the Legionary she was talking about. Charlotte put the binoculars up to her face again and spotted the man for him. "Never was good at breaking bad news," he said, slowly.

Charlotte laughed, delightedly, her face flushed and a blissful smile on her face. When she caught her breath, she turned her head back to him. He could see her expression out of the corner of his eyes, from behind his sunglasses. Hadn't seen anyone that happy since―

His grin faded. The ache in his chest grew stronger. Didn't want to think about that.

"Maybe we oughta put him out of his misery, _then,"_ she cackled, turning her binoculars to the right.

That was it, for him. The coincidental comparison brought to mind all the anger and fear and hate he'd held in, since he'd shot Carla. The rage he'd felt toward himself, for being a coward―for being useless. This―right here, this attack on the Cove, this was what he'd been waiting for since the very moment he pulled that trigger―

Didn't want to let emotion tinge the joy of killing Legionaries. But he didn't have a choice, right now. _Goddamn backstabbing brain._

This was his karma, come to doom him. Even if Charlotte was distinct from Charlie, she was still that person. They'd both earned this.

Boone lowered the rifle scope from his eye and breathed, letting all the air escape from his lungs and taking a measured breath. He raised the rifle again, and fixed the sights on the Legionary with a sour face.

 _"Say when."_

* * *

Hidden up on the rocks wasn't ideal for Charlotte's grenade rifle. After a time, she wiggled out of the lean-to that made up the sniper perch. Made her way down onto the highway, popping off grenades at each new attacker that spotted her and ran up the road. None made it very far up the highway, despite her poor eyesight. It was easy to see the bastards coming.

Boone removed himself from the perch once she'd cleared the path, pulling a stimpak from his pocket as he slid down the rocks to the highway. Charlotte went down on one knee, groaning loudly. He'd figured as much.

Dropped the stimpak by her side as he swept the road with his scope, looking for more enemies, watching out. In a short second or two, Charlotte was back up on her feet and cracking the rifle to reload, muttering swears under her breath.

"Hey," she said, bringing the rifle up and chuckling. "I feel like singing. How about you?"

Boone ignored her, focusing on a corner of the camp and a fluttering bit of red fabric. Charlotte coughed, spat, and cleared her throat, sauntering down the highway in front of him. She started belting out a song, off-tune and terrible but nonetheless catchy.

Infectious, hell. This was fatal, for _sure._ Boone's mouth tugged up into an unwanted smile as Charlotte belted out Ragtime Cowboy Joe, wiggling her hips at the line about swinging in the saddle.

 _"Out in Arizona, where the bad men are,"_ she rang out, as she lifted her rifle and shot into the camp, _"the only thing to guide you is an evening star―"_

The explosions had jarred the camp into further life, shouts coming from all corners of the Cove. Boone's rifle echoed in the fray, as he moved up to the north side. Needed the cliffs at his back, so those assholes couldn't sneak up on him.

Charlotte was dancing her way through the tents on the other end, the only interruption in the explosions and her jaunty tune the occasion swear or shriek of pain. _Godspeed,_ he thought, with a nod that went unseen.

Once, twice, fifteen times he reloaded, filling the Legion bastards with as much lead as he could fit in the breech. They kept coming, he kept reloading, repeating itself over and over. Fell into his old routine.

Felt like a robot. He could hear everything, see what was in front of him, taste the blood in his mouth from the attacks. The pain of bullets ripping through his skin went unnoticed, the routine of combat laid over his mind like a film on water. Didn't have to think, didn't have to do anything more than load the rifle, aim, and shoot.

He worked best with an empty mind.

* * *

Probably about twenty minutes. Never took long, when he was in his element. Bodies littered the camp, the stink of fresh blood in the air. He took out his machete and walked toward the river, putting down the ones who were still twitching. Fire crackled, moaning sounded. The cries were ended by the swift puncture of a neck with his machete. Bones cracked, hands scrabbled at the blade. It didn't matter how hard they fought.

Death came for everyone, in the end.

Boone was covered in bullet holes. Didn't have any more stimpaks. Could feel the weakness starting in his right hand, blood running down his forearm. One of the shots had gone through the top of his beret, leaving a hole through the fabric. Glasses were cracked, but that was from one of the bastards with a steady hand and a heavy blow―

He couldn't hear Charlotte singing anymore. Stilled himself among the bodies, letting his machete fall to his side. No, she wasn't singing.

Hoped she hadn't died. This wasn't even halfway _over,_ yet.

He found her sitting on the back of a dead Legionary, leaning against the little building in the center of the camp. She had a bottle of whiskey in one hand and the machete from Nelson in one hand, her eyes closed and feet propped up on a second body. She'd stretched herself out, taken a drink, and―

Passed out, looked like. He tugged at her pack, drew out more stimpaks, and started injecting himself. She'd taken a round of bullets to her legs, now dripping steadily onto the bodies below them, and had a scrape across her forehead. One corner of her mouth was bruised, bleeding slightly, and the hand that held onto her machete had a large gash across the leather. He could see blood oozing from her gloves.

"Hey," he said, putting one knee on the ground. He jabbed a stimpak into the leg nearest him and depressed the plunger, watching her face.

Took two more for her to wake up, shaking her head slightly and blinking wearily at him. She looked confused, for a moment, then stared down at herself with a horrified look.

"Oh," she whispered. "Oh, _no."_

 _Fuck._ Boone sighed, handing her another stimpak. Charlie was back.

There went all their plans to _kick ass._


	17. Lottie

"What happened―" she started, dropping the machete, pushing herself upward. Boone stood, gripping his rifle and shooting a glance back at the camp. "...Why am I covered in blood? _Hurts―"_

"Took down the Cove," he said, evenly. He was disappointed. As much as he'd wanted for Charlie to show up, back in the sniper nest, he'd gotten used to having Charlotte around. She was a lot easier to work with, and better company.

The plan to get into the Fort and fuck shit up was out the window, now. Couldn't hope she would hold herself together long enough to try. Charlie wasn't the one who promised to help him, and he couldn't expect her to follow through on a promise she didn't make―

She moved off of the bodies, making a face. _"Oh,"_ she said. "...How did I end up back _here?"_ She wiped her mouth and frowned at the blood on her hand. Her gloves were covered with rapidly congealing blood, and she peeled the leather from her fingers with a wince.

He turned his head back to her. "Benny," he said, shrugging. He couldn't really explain everything that had happened, to her. Probably wouldn't believe him, anyway. He sighed. _Goddammit._ Everything had been going so _well._

Something felt off, though. He couldn't put a finger on what it was, just a stray thought that ate at his brain. Maybe it was the way she talked―wasn't acting as upset, like she ought to have been. She'd acted like that when they went up to the Lucky 38, but it hadn't held. Maybe this was the same.

Charlie stood up, coughing, and retrieved the whiskey. Tilted it up and took a long drink, letting the excess flow down her front and over the metal breastplate. Boone watched her without a word.

She tossed the empty bottle overhand into the camp and moved up next to him, rubbing her mouth. "All dead, _hmm?"_ she murmured, looking around her and spinning her arms back and forth.

Like a little kid. Boone's eyebrows drew together in confusion. Didn't... definitely wasn't acting like Charlie. Or Charlotte. What did she say, again?

 _"Charlie didn't help them blow up the prison. That was another person."_ But she'd taken the pardon. So one of them had to be the one who'd done that―and he hadn't thought Charlotte would lie like that―

 _"And if I ever have the chance, I'll throttle her."_ No, Charlotte was just an angry about that as _he'd_ been. She hadn't been the one who orchestrated the NCRCF breakout.

 _"People called her Lottie, back then. But that ain't a name to hear said."_

He looked down at the black hair that blew about in the warm breeze, at the scar on the top of her scalp. "Yeah," he agreed, frowning. If this was another personality―

Christ, could it get any _more_ complicated?

"Won the day?" she asked, putting her hands on her hips and blowing a strand of hair out of her face. After a long look at the bodies, she turned and flashed him a smile, an _adoring_ smile, and he started to feel sick to his stomach.

"No," he told her. "Not done yet."

Her mouth parted, her face falling into a confused look. "Are you not the victor?" she asked innocently, tilting her head slightly. "No one else is _alive,_ after all."

Definitely not Charlie, or Charlotte. This one―this one was _worse._ He'd rather deal with Charlie's depressive moaning or Charlotte's infectious anger―

"I always _did_ want a knight in shining armor," she said. Her voice was pitched a little higher than the others, almost like a little girl. It was _unnerving._

This personality was _delusional._ Acting like a kid, swinging her arms and eyes wide on his, like she didn't understand. Body language said she was perfectly comfortable, right now. Charlotte would have been smiling spitefully and enjoying the _hell_ out of this sea of blood and guts they'd made. This one―

Boone fixed her with a disgusted look, and gripped his rifle tighter. He turned and walked off, trying to figure out what to do. Didn't know what the fuck to say, anyway. Probably better to keep his mouth shut.

 _Charlotte could have warned me._ He moved down the boards of the pier and booted the dead body of the ferryman into the water, watching it float away with the current. _Don't know why she didn't―_

He jerked in surprise to find she'd come up behind him, putting her hand out onto his elbow. He grabbed her hand and pushed her back with a jerk, turning and staring at her in confusion and anger.

"What's the matter, darlin'?" she asked, tilting her head again and staring up at him with that aggravating innocent look on her face. "Do you not want me to touch you?"

"No," he snapped. What in the _fuck―_

"Very well," she said, lowering her arm to her side. "What do you wish me to do?"

He didn't even want to think about _why_ she was asking him―Boone couldn't help but feel disgusted at how _amenable_ this one was. "I'd like Charlotte back," he muttered, mostly to himself. Lottie―if she was Lottie―seemed like she aimed to please.

"Why would you want _that_ nagging old bitch when you have me?" she asked, running her hands up and down her chest. Like she was showing off the goods, fucking _Christ―_

 _"Sit down,"_ he spat, angrily.

She immediately sank to the boards of the pier, folding her knees under her like she was some kind of starlet on a movie poster. "Whatever _you_ say, darlin'," she said, smiling.

Boone stepped onto the raft and grabbed the pole, pushing it away from the pier. _Really, what the fuck, Charlotte!?_

* * *

She was almost out of sight when he let the current carry him back, and retrieved her.

If he went up to the Fort by himself, it was the last trip he'd ever take. Sure as fuck wasn't going to _talk_ to Caesar―

He'd forgotten the Legion had that chip. If he couldn't kill them all―and they still had that thing―whatever it was, it was important. Charlotte said the Legion would take Vegas, if they had the chip. That wasn't happening, if he had a say. He needed Charlotte or Charlie or whoever to deal with the chip. She'd told him Mr. House sent _her_ to get it back.

Fucking _Vegas._ Always found a way to make you buy back in.

She was sitting on the pier, still. He pushed the raft up against the pier, staring at her. She looked up at him expectantly, her hands in between her knees and a pleasant smile on her face. Whoever this one was, whatever she'd done, he didn't care.

"I want Charlotte," he told her, first thing.

"Are you sure?" she said, her smile fading slightly. "I'm much nicer than―"

"Yes, I'm _fucking sure,"_ he snapped angrily, gripping the pole tightly.

"But she's so grumpy," she moaned, rolling her eyes. He glared at her. She sighed, and looked down at her hands. "Very well," she murmured, sounding disappointed.

A minute or two went by without any change. Boone watched her, his face hardening into a mask of anger as time passed. She glanced up at him and applied a stimpak to her arm, watching her hands healing, and sighed.

Then she went stiff and shot him another look, this time with more anger than he'd seen her show. _"Fuck!"_ she said, slamming a fist onto the boards.

He watched her push herself up from the boards and stomp away. She returned after a moment, with her grenade rifle in one hand and the machete in the other, feet hitting the boards with enough force to shake the entire pier. She stopped when she reached the raft, her teeth bared and grinding together.

"I'll _kill_ her," she hissed, shouldering the rifle and hooking the machete to her waist. _"I'll fucking kill her!"_

He stared at Charlotte. She breathed out, heavily, staring at the raft. _"Fuck!"_ she groaned, again, and stepped onto the raft.

"This is fucking _ridiculous,"_ he muttered. He was at the limit of his patience. _Should have just walked away._ He was a goddamn _idiot._

"At least you can walk _away_ from it!" Charlotte shouted, throwing a hand up at him. She stared at him with a furious face then softened, looked down and closed her eyes. "I― _God―"_

"Save it for Caesar," he snarled.

"Don't you fucking doubt _me,_ Boone," she snapped, looking back up at him. He didn't reply, just stared at her. After a moment, she turned to the side and clenched her fists.

Charlotte ran a hand up her head to the scar on her forehead. "Let's get that fucking chip back," she said, determinedly.

He pushed the raft away from the pier with one foot.

* * *

"What the _fuck,_ Charlotte," he said, as they neared the Fort. Hadn't spoken for several hours. Neither had she. Still couldn't explain why he'd gone back to get her. At least she was back in control.

She threw up her hands in defeat, slapping them back down onto her knees. "I don't fucking _know,"_ she spat, angrily. She moved her hands to her lap and curled in on herself. Didn't say anything for a long time, tears beginning to fall from her cheeks onto her arms.

The stars in the sky, again, the purple of night. He always felt more at home in the dark than the day. Could see the fires burning in the distance, on the cliffs. _Soon._

Knew how she'd survived the Legion, now. All the voices in her head came around to keep her alive in the hell they were about to assault. Charlotte _fought_ the bastards, fought hard. Lottie _gave into_ them, acted all pleasant.

Made that conversation they'd had in the Lucky 38 stick out in his head. She'd said the Legion knew about the chip. Lottie must have been the one who picked up the delivery. Which meant―

"If you're working for the Legion, I'm gone. The next time I see you it'll be through my scope," Boone told her abruptly, and he meant it. No matter who she was, he meant it.

"Oh, fuck _you!"_ she snapped, staring at him in disbelief. "For fuck's sake, Boone―" He kept his eyes on hers, daring her. _"Fine!_ Be _that_ fucking _way!"_

Boone watched her as she removed the metal chest piece of her armor. Watched her toss it to the side and pull her undershirt off, revealing her naked chest to him. She looked at him to make sure he was looking, then pointed at a clump of scars among too many. Masses of pinkish tissue criss-crossed her skin, linking together over the darker tone in a never-ending pale pattern.

"This was when those fuckers had their way with Charlie the _first_ time!" She moved her hand down about two inches to another scar. "This was when they tried to use her like a fucking _piece of paper_ and _carved their **names** into her!"_

He watched without a word. She turned to the side, lifted up her arm and traced a slice spanning from her shoulder blade to the underside of her elbow. "This was when _I_ mouthed off to Vulpes―" her hand slid back down the slice to a splotch that went down her ribs and over her stomach. "And _this_ was when _that bastard threw me into a campfire!_ I got a hell of a lot more, if you think _that ain't **enough!"**_

Charlotte glared at Boone. He couldn't look away from the scars. _"I_ wouldn't let them kill her. You wanna think I'm working _for_ those _cocksuckers_ ― _ **FINE!"**_

She curled her legs up and pressed her forehead into her knees, and moaned in pain. "I wasn't _enough,"_ she said, shuddering. "I was _stronger._ I should have been able to _handle_ it. _But I couldn't."_

 _Fucking **Legion.**_

* * *

Note: I've decided to call this temporarily complete. I've had no luck coming back to it, but should I manage to pick up the trail I will certainly update as soon as I can. Sorry. :(


End file.
